


When the Cannon Fires

by Saturn848



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, F/F, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24964807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saturn848/pseuds/Saturn848
Summary: Nicole is from District 7. After years of doing whatever it takes to support her family, there are 51 slips of paper with her name on it in the reaping bowl. She walks into the crowded square knowing there's a good chance she'll leave on a train to the Capitol.Waverly is from District 2. She's not the best fighter in her class and she's still two years away from being eligible to be selected as a volunteer. The odds of her ending up in the Hunger Games are slim to none. As she waits in line at the reaping, she's nervous, but not for herself.
Relationships: Waverly Earp & Nicole Haught, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Comments: 64
Kudos: 195





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love Wynonna Earp and after reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, I was reminded of my love of The Hunger Games and thus, the idea for this cross-over fic was born. 
> 
> Set in The Hunger Games Universe with Wynonna Earp characters, this is my take on Waverly and Nicole's tragic love story if instead of meeting in a bar, they meet in the 73rd annual Hunger Games.

_Prologue_

Waverly despises combat training. It’s her least favorite part of the day. She actually enjoys some of her classes- learning about the history of Panem intrigues her and she finds her botany class interesting even if the only plants they study are ones likely to be found in the arena. Combat training, on the other hand, is a stressful hour and a half of her trying to find the fine balance between not getting beaten to a pulp and appearing sufficiently useless at wielding whatever weapon they’ve been given that day.

Waverly’s not a bad fighter, she’s actually a decent shot and surprisingly strong given her petite stature, but that’s the problem. Waverly doesn’t want to be a good fighter. She hates fighting, she hates the idea of hurting people, and she hates the Hunger Games. So she made the choice her first year at the Career Academy to be complete shit in her combat training classes to ensure she would never be chosen to volunteer for the games and never have to participate in the horrid, televised killing spree she was forced to watch each year.

Her plan to flunk every combat assessment would have been a lot easier had her sister not taught her how to work a bow and deliver a mean roundhouse kick as a child, but Waverly doesn’t blame her. Wynonna had only been looking out for her, like she always does, and wanted to ensure Waverly could hold her own on the schoolyard and have the skills she needed to survive if they were to ever fall on hard times and Wynonna wasn’t around to look after her.

Despite her training from Wynonna, Waverly was quickly able to master the delicate art of failing just enough to be dismissed by the instructors as a potential tribute, but not enough to be kicked out of school or kicked in the face during a spar. Her little game was exhausting though, and she left combat classes drenched in sweat and with a new array of bruises each day.

Waverly’s just on her way to the locker rooms to change into her combat attire when a hand circles her wrist and tugs her into an empty hallway. She shrieks from surprise and whirls around to defend herself from the attacker when a second hand is clamped over her mouth, silencing her screams. Waverly tries her best to squirm out of the stranger’s hold but is halted by the sound of a familiar voice.

“Waves, calm down, it’s just me,” The voice whispers.

“Wynonna?” Waverly tries to speak but it comes out muffled from the hand that remains clamped over her mouth.

“I need to talk to you but not here and you have to be quiet okay?” Wynonna’s tone is urgent.

Waverly nods her head to let her sister know she understands. The hand is dropped from her mouth and she’s released from the tight hold.

“Was that really necessary?” She whispers, rubbing the wrist that was previously restrained.

“Yes, now shush and follow me,” Wynonna answers, leading Waverly down a maze of hallways and eventually into an old utility closet that she picks open with a wire she produces from her back pocket.

Once they’re in the small, dusty space, Wynonna speaks at a normal volume again. “Sorry kid, the hallways are bugged. I couldn’t risk the administration overhearing us.”

Waverly furrows her brow, “They are?’

Wynonna nods, “Every main corridor has at least ten microphones and the smaller hallways have them posted outside water fountains and lockers, anywhere students like to gather.”

Waverly’s jaw drops at this new information and she tries to think back to what she’s said while chatting with her friends in the hallways. She hopes nothing embarrassing or God forbid, something that could be deemed treasonous.

“They spy on us now?” Waverly asks, shocked.

“Sweetie, they’ve always been spying on us, but that’s not what I came to tell you.”

Waverly takes in her sister’s serious face and fidgeting hands and feels a knot form in her stomach. Whatever Wynonna has to tell her, it can’t be good.

“What is it? Did you get in trouble again?”

Wynonna’s academy record is less than perfect given her fiery disposition and tendency to talk back to nearly every member of the staff. She’s been found tousling in the courtyard on several occasions and Waverly always feared she wouldn’t make it to graduation before getting expelled. Now with the term coming to an end in just under a month and Wynonna in her final year at the academy, Waverly just hopes her sister can make it out with a diploma and a shot at a decent job as anything other than a peacekeeper.

“Not exactly,” The older girl’s eyes flicker off to the side before settling back on Waverly, a tell that she’s nervous and avoiding what she’s about to say next. “It’s sort of the opposite actually. The dean called me into his office to talk about my uh, _exceptional combat record_ ,” Wynonna gives a forced laugh and Waverly is utterly confused.

“Well that doesn’t sound so bad…” It’s no secret that Wynonna excels at combat training. She may barely scrape by in most of her classes, but when it comes to sparring, she’s a straight A student.

“Yeah except for the part where he told me I’ve been selected as the female volunteer tribute from my class.” The words rush out of Wynonna’s mouth like if she says them fast enough, they’ll somehow hurt less.

“The… the what?” Waverly stutters out, the blood rushing to her head and a tightness forming in her chest. She knows exactly what her sister just said, but her brain refuses to believe it’s true.

“They want to send me into the Games, baby girl,” Wynonna states, her voice hollow.

“No!” Waverly cries. “They-they can’t,” Tears start to pool in her eyes as panic takes over. “They can’t do that. They can’t take you from me!”

As the words come out of her mouth, Waverly knows they’re false. They _can_ do that. The academy administration composed of powerful District 2 officials, all loyal to the Capitol, can do whatever they please as long as they continue to produce high-performing, entertaining tributes to boost the Game’s ratings.

Wynonna grips her arms and it centers Waverly, though the tears continue to spill down her cheeks. “They can try, but I’m not gonna let ‘em. I’m not going anywhere without you, okay? I promise.”

As much as Waverly wants to believe her, she’s not sure she can. “But how-”

“I said no.”

Waverly blinks slowly, “You can do that?’

“Well…” Wynonna’s confidence falters and Waverly’s heart sinks. “Listen, I don’t think it’s happened before, or if it has it was a long time ago, but I think that’s because every student at this goddamn school has been brainwashed into thinking that being chosen as tribute is the greatest honor they could receive in their miserable life.”

Waverly’s not sure where her sister is going with this, but she clings to her every word none-the-less, looking for a shred of hope to latch onto.

“It's because they actually want to enter the Games, and to become a victor, that makes them such good tributes. Unlike the other districts, our tributes want to be there and they’ve trained almost their whole lives for this moment- it's a winning formula.”

“But,” Waverly’s brow is creased and her voice soft, “So have you. You’re the best fighter in your class. God how could I be so dense, of course they’d pick you.”

Waverly had always assumed Wynonna’s defiance would be her saving grace, that the administration wouldn’t consider her for tribute because of her inability to follow academy rules and lack of effort in almost every class. Now she sees how incredibly naïve that was. While Waverly was purposefully tripping over her sword or letting a girl half her weight pin her to the ground, Wynonna was hitting every target in practice and sending even the toughest of boys running in the halls just by glaring at them.

Her sister is a natural fighter, whether it’s in her blood or born out of the hard circumstances of their childhood, there’s no denying that Wynonna Earp is a force to be reckoned with. She’s Career material, through and through, and the realization of this makes Waverly’s stomach churn.

“Yeah but I don’t _want_ to be a victor, that’s the key,” Wynonna steps closer in the dim light and Waverly can see the fire in her eyes. “The Capitol wants entertaining tributes, but the academy, they want victors. As long as they keep cranking out victors, their doors stay open and their wallets stay full. And Capitol money continues to flow into the district. So it’s in every District 2 official’s best interest to have a tribute who actually wants to be in the Games, who wants to win. And that’s not me.”

The dots are connecting in Waverly’s head but the doubt still lingers. She wraps her arms around her waist and speaks quietly, “Then why did they pick you?”

“I don’t know… Maybe they thought I’d see it as an opportunity, as the best chance I have at getting a better life. I’d make more money as a victor than we could ever dream of having…” Wynonna’s voice trails off and her eyes gloss over.

Waverly whacks her lightly on the arm. “Stop that, it’s not worth it. Not even a little bit. I don’t need loads of money, I just need my big sister,” Her voice breaks at the last word and the tears start to flow again.

She feels herself being tugged into an embrace and quickly melts into the familiar warmth of being wrapped in her sister’s arms, the only family she’s ever really had.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Wynonna whispers, running a comforting hand through light brown waves. “I meant what I said earlier, I’m not going anywhere. I told the dean I didn’t want to be their tribute and he told me to think about it and meet with him again in two days. I’m going to say the exact same thing, and if I can’t convince him to pick a better tribute- one who actually gives a shit about his stupid Games -then we’re going to run away.”

Waverly jerks out of the hug and gives Wynonna a startled look. “Run away? To where?”

“Anywhere but here,” Wynonna states confidently. “But more specifically, Northeast. I’ve heard rumors of a rebel force forming beyond the districts, near the ruins of District 13. We’ll go there.”

Waverly’s head is spinning from all of this new information and she’s still recovering from the shock of Wynonna’s previous announcement. “That would take ages to reach, and we could get there and find nothing but rubble. We’d be alone and starving.”

“Maybe, but we’d be together. And I wouldn’t be dead.”

Wynonna’s words linger in the silence and the reality of the situation sinks in. Wynonna’s been given a death sentence. Any option is better than the Games.

“Plus,” Wynonna adds, her eyes shifting hesitantly from side to side as if she’s questioning whether she should share this last bit of information with Waverly. “I think that’s where Mama went.”

Waverly sucks in a sharp breath. “W-what?”

She’s spent her whole life trying to figure out why their mother would leave them with their abusive father and never come back. Her memories of the woman are fuzzy, but they’re wrapped in warm light and she knows Mama was a good mother when she was around, the kind of mother that wouldn’t just up and leave her young daughters with a cruel man who loved his drink more than his own children. But she did, and coming to terms with that painful reality over the years has taken a toll on Waverly and left her heart damaged nearly beyond repair.

“I don’t know for sure,” Wynonna starts cautiously, “But I’ve been asking around for the past year and I finally found a woman who knew her even before she met Daddy, and apparently, Mama had always been anti-capitol and liked to talk about running away to join some mysterious resistance beyond the districts. She thinks Daddy’s beatings are what pushed her over the edge and got her to actually do what she’d wanted to her whole life- run away and become a rebel.”

“If that’s true, then why’d she have to leave us?” The hurt in Waverly’s voice is audible and makes Wynonna wince like she’s already regretting her decision to tell Waverly about their mother and dig up old wounds that never quite healed.

“I wish I knew,” The older Earp sighs. “Maybe she was just a selfish woman who chose to save herself when things got hard. I don’t want to get your hopes up that she’s still out there or that she’d even want to see us. But we might need to leave and now I have a plan for where we could go, so I need you to pack a bag when you get home and stash it somewhere safe in case we need to make a run for it, okay?”

“Okay,” Waverly breathes, her mind still reeling from all the information that’s just been dumped on her but trying to keep herself together for her sister’s sake.

Wynonna glances at the cracked glass of their father’s old wristwatch that she re-claimed after his death and grimaces. “I’ve already made you miss half of combat training so you better go before you get an absence for the day.”

Given that Waverly just learned her sister might be shipped off to the Capitol in six days’ time and that her mother may be alive and part of some rebel cause, receiving an absence in combat training is the least of her worries, but she agrees anyway.

Wynonna presses a kiss to her forehead before warning Waverly not to tell a soul about what they’ve just discussed. Waverly promises to stay quiet, though she hadn't planned on telling anyone to begin with. She may have a plethora of friends at the academy given her cheery exterior and pretty face, but those friendships all floated along the surface and consisted of trivial conversations about who-was-doing-who at the academy and nothing more. The only person she lets see under the façade is Wynonna.

The sisters part ways and Waverly receives a scolding for her tardiness but she brushes it off and focuses on the drills they’re running that day. She’s so distracted from her meeting with Wynonna that she forgets to do poorly and ends up completing the obstacle course in record time, earning her a stunned look from the instructor and a few raised eyebrows from her classmates. _I’ll be long gone by the end of the week,_ Waverly thinks, unbothered by the new attention, _let them stare while they still can._

〜

Her shift at Shorty’s, District 2’s most popular and only bar, drags on, her head a jumble of thoughts about the Games, her sister, and running away. She has little faith that the dean will let Wynonna off the hook so easily and prepares herself to leave District 2 for good. There’s not much she’ll miss about the militaristic district she grew up in. The buildings are industrial and functional and lack any sort of beauty or grace. The people are either devoted capitol drones or weary from years of living in a place that seems to suck the life out of all its inhabitants.

Being one of the wealthiest districts in all of Panem, one might think life in District 2 would be pretty good. And it can be if you believe everything they teach you and aspire to a life of building weapons or keeping peace in the districts, which Waverly doesn't. But the people aren't starving and most everyone has a sturdy roof over their head, which can't be said about every district.

Despite her traumatic childhood, Waverly has never gone hungry. Their father may have been a drunk but before he fell victim to a bottle he had worked his way through the peacekeeping ranks and earned himself an officer position, providing them with a steady and plentiful flow of cash even after half of his paycheck was spent on booze.

After the incident that led to Ward Earp’s untimely death, the two remaining Earp’s received a hefty payout from the Capitol for their father’s so-called honorable service that kept the lights on and the tuition paid. Uncle Curtis became their new legal guardian but the man didn’t care to take in two stray children, especially after the passing of his wife, so they worked out a suitable arrangement where Curtis was their guardian on paper but the girls remained at the homestead. Eight-year-old Waverly was raised by ten-year-old Wynonna and no one in District 2 even batted an eye.

The Capitol money started to run low around the time both girls reached a working age so Curtis hired Waverly, the one he could tolerate the most, to bus tables at his late wife's pub and eventually pour the drinks once she could pass as legal. Wynonna took the less pleasant job of cleaning the butcher’s kitchen, but she never complained. With the additional income, the girls were able to keep their bellies full and use the remainder of the Capitol money to pay the bills until Wynonna graduated and could get a real job.

Now her sister’s graduation seems like a distant dream. Waverly contemplates their new and uncertain future as she wipes a glass clean with a soiled rag. The prospect of leaving District 2 would be exciting if they weren’t planning on running towards the great, empty unknown.

Waverly ticks her way through a mental list of everything she’s going to pack once she gets off work and any affairs she’ll need to get in order before their escape. She’ll say a discrete goodbye to Mrs. Humphrey, the seamstress whose establishment sits right beside Shorty’s and who is the closest thing to a mother-figure Waverly’s had since age four. She’ll have to enlist the help of one of the neighbor kids to feed the stray cats she always smuggles scraps for. The thought of her feline friends going hungry in her absence makes Waverly’s heart hurt, she won't allow it. Lastly, she’ll give away her heavy books and old vanity set, anything too cumbersome to carry on their journey, to the butcher’s daughter whom Waverly always had a soft spot for as she reminded her of her younger self- still full of hope and optimism about this cruel world they live in.

The next two days pass surprisingly quickly as Waverly busies herself making preparations for their departure and awaiting the moment Wynonna pulls her into another dark corner and tells her to grab her bag because they’re making a break for it.

But the moment doesn’t come. Instead, Wynonna flops down on Waverly’s bed after their shifts on Wednesday evening and informs her that they won't be leaving District 2 after all.

The book Waverly was reading tumbles to the ground as she sits up and stares down at her sister. “What?”

“I said,” Wynonna speaks slowly, “We’re not leaving. I talked with the dean today and told him if he sends me to the games, I'll run straight into the bloodbath and let whatever malnourished kid that finds me first slit my throat before the action even begins.”

Waverly’s face twists in horror at her sister’s graphic and flippant description of her own death.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Wynonna scolds. “It worked. The male tribute this year is going to be Champ Hardy and while he’s strong, everyone knows he’s got the mental capacity of a twelve-year-old. He’s there for show, the Capitol will adore him and he’ll make good television until he eats a poison berry or something and drops dead. They need a victor and I made it clear that it wasn’t going to me, so he said they’d find a replacement.”

Waverly’s jaw drops and she feels hope bubble up in her chest. “He actually said that? And he wasn’t mad or anything?”

Wynonna lets out a strained laugh. “Oh he was mad alright, but I think he realized I wasn’t going to be the star pony they wanted and concluded they’d be better off betting on a different horse.”

“Who do you think they’ll pick?” Waverly asks quietly, mentally running through the other girls in Wynonna’s class.

Wynonna shrugs. “Probably Briar Nightwood, that chick’s been talking about her strategy for the Games since we were in grade school. She’ll be overjoyed to take my spot.”

Waverly chews her bottom lip, still feeling uneasy about the whole situation. “So he didn’t expel you for turning the position down?”

“Nope,” Wynonna lifts herself into a sitting position and ruffles Waverly’s hair. “Now stop worrying and come celebrate with me. I’m not going to the Games and we’re not going to have to live off of tree bark and squirrels, this is good news.”

A reluctant sigh slips out of Waverly’s lips. “I suppose it is.”

“Actually, it’s great news,” A wide grin spreads across Wynonna’s face, “And the only way to celebrate great news is with whiskey and cupcakes.”

Waverly shakes her head but now she’s smiling too. Wynonna knows cupcakes are her absolute favorite and a treat they rarely splurge on. The whiskey’s more for Wynonna as Waverly’s never had much of a taste for alcohol after watching her father drink himself into a stupor at the age of six.

The girls slip on their shoes and make their way to the bakery that smells like sugar and is filled with more colors than any other place in District 2. They purchase a dozen cupcakes and each eat two on their walk home, Waverly getting frosting on her nose like she always does and causing Wynonna to laugh in a way she so rarely does.

Waverly gives in and drinks some of the whiskey as they feast on their sugary dinner and she feels the tension she’s been carrying around since Monday leave her bones. She starts to believe that maybe everything will be okay after all. District 2 may be a soul-sucking place, but as long as she has her sister, Waverly thinks there’s a chance she could be happy here. There’s no one she loves more than the hot-mess of human that’s sat across from her snorting at something silly Waverly’s just said and wiping whiskey from her chin.

〜

Over the course of the week, Waverly slowly starts to give in to the idea that perhaps her sister really is safe and the danger has passed. It’s not until they’re stepping foot into the reaping and forced to separate their hands as they’re herded into their age-designated spots that the panic returns.

The hot sun beats down on the crowd and Waverly feels sweat prickle the back of her neck. She’s quite aware of the fact that the white sundress she wears is two sizes too small as the tight fabric presses against her slick skin and the ruffled sleeves itch in the heat. The Earps may not go hungry, but they don’t have the extra money to go clothes shopping every season like the other girls in Waverly’s class.

Surrounded by peacekeepers and squinting up at the stage that currently holds the mayor, the dean of the academy, a Capitol escort, and an array of past victors, the impending Games become all too real. The dean, a middle-aged man with greying black hair and a small, evenly trimmed beard, wears a twisted smirk that Waverly feels is pointed right at her. She shifts uncomfortably in her spot and glances around at the teenagers next to her to see if they’re aware of the dean’s pointed gaze.

They all wear the typical bored face of a District 2 kid on reaping day. No one knows who the tributes will be, but they can all feel safe that it won't be them. Since District 2 runs on a volunteer system, the name that gets pulled out of the reaping bowl is inconsequential as a pre-selected academy student will step forward and volunteer. The reaping is merely a formality to make it appear as though District 2 is just like any other district.

There’s a good chance it’s all in her head, but Waverly swears the dean is looking straight at her. She swallows down a lump in her throat as her brain conjures up images of her sister being hauled up on stage at gunpoint and being forced to volunteer. _But that would be messy_ , she thinks, _and too difficult to explain when the reaping airs on television._

She shakes out her hands in an attempt to rid her body of the nervous energy that’s building up inside her and tries her best to focus on the words coming out of the mayor’s mouth.

After a long and insufferable speech about the history of the Hunger Games, the District 2 escort- a plump man with bright pink hair and a face that Wynonna always said resembled a rodent’s -steps forward and dips a hand into the bowl of boy’s names. He’s only halfway through the boy’s last name when Champ Hardy is already confidently stepping out into the aisle and saying the words, “I volunteer as tribute.”

A hushed murmur runs through the crowd as people share their thoughts on the first tribute for this year’s games. One of the girls beside Waverly twirls a finger through her hair and sighs loudly.

“He’s so dreamy, I actually won’t mind watching the Games this year.”

Another girl snickers and adds, “I bet he’ll have to take off his shirt at some point.”

Waverly feels repulsed at the way the girls are discussing the yearly massacre like Capitol citizens would, like it’s a fun television show. She may not be Champ Hardy’s biggest fan, but she feels sick hearing the girls next to her objectify him as he walks towards his inevitable death.

By the way Champ saunters up the steps of the stage and flashes a winning smile at the crowd once he reaches the top, it’s clear he believes he’ll return home a victor, but Waverly knows otherwise. Champ Hardy has a handsome face and nice physique, but he lacks wit and forethought and is far too arrogant for his own good. The Games are going to eat him alive, and Waverly finds herself feeling sorry for the boy.

Waverly was momentarily distracted by Champ’s entrance but her heart rate spikes again as soon as the escort’s voice booms into the microphone. “And now, on to the ladies.”

As he fumbles with the papers in the bowl, Waverly is struck by a sudden, irrational fear that every paper has her sister’s name written on it, forcing her into the games the old-fashioned way. Waverly squeezes her eyes shut and hears herself chanting quietly, _“Not Wynonna, not Wynonna, not Wynonna…”_

Her chanting is interrupted by the escort’s voice ringing out across the square. Perhaps her prayers worked, because the name that comes out of those painted pink capitol lips is not Wynonna’s.

It’s Waverly’s.

Waverly’s eyes shoot open and she’s questioning whether she heard that right when the escort leans forward and speaks into the microphone again, “I uh, I said, the female tribute is Waverly Earp…”

The square is filled with silence as everyone waits for the volunteer to step forward and take her place, keeping their mouths shut just as they were taught to unless they’ve been selected as tribute, which to Waverly’s horror, she realizes none of them have.

The administration didn’t need to rig the bowl with Wynonna’s name to force her to into the games, they just needed her baby sister to be reaped to ensure her willing participation. At this realization, Waverly surges forward before her brain can fully process what her feet are doing, rushing to take her spot on the stage before her sister can volunteer instead.

As soon as she emerges into the walkway, Waverly hears Wynonna’s voice ring out from the crowd to her right, shouting, “I volun-”

Her sister’s words are suddenly silenced and Waverly’s heart drops into her stomach. She moves to push her way through the mass of teenagers to her right when a peacekeeper grabs onto her arm and roughly pulls her back into the clearing.

“Wynonna!” She screams, struggling against the peacekeeper’s iron-like grip.

Now that the silence has been broken the crowd begins to whisper but the voices fade into a dull roar as a ringing fills Waverly’s ears and she can only focus on one thing- her sister’s limp body being hauled out of the crowd by three peacekeepers, a white gloved hand clamped firmly over her mouth muffling her screams.

Their eyes meet as Wynonna is dragged past Waverly and the older girl makes an attempt at escape by elbowing the peacekeeper behind her in the gut, but it’s futile given his armor and just earns Wynonna a strong kick to the side from one of his buddies. A guttural scream rips from Waverly’s lungs as she watches her sister’s face contort in pain.

“You had your chance Earp," The peacekeeper who delivered the kick sneers, just loud enough that Waverly can hear it as the peacekeepers yank Wynonna’s crumpled form off the ground. "You said you didn’t want to volunteer. We're just respecting your wishes." He laughs gruffly before continuing to forcibly remove Wynonna from the reaping.

Waverly’s entire body feels numb and she’s lost the ability to speak. Her brain can’t seem to process anything except for the petrifying image of her sister being dragged before her, beaten and bloody, that keeps playing on repeat in her head.

She’s ripped out of her thoughts by the peacekeeper behind her shoving her forward and ordering her to get up on stage. Once again, her legs move of their own accord as they walk between rows of wide-eyed teenagers all gaping at the violent display that just occurred at their typically uneventful reaping.

_“Isn't she only sixteen?"_ She hears someone whisper to her left. Followed by, _“Waverly Earp couldn’t hurt a fly if she wanted to, why would they pick her?”_

But Waverly knows why. She knows as soon as she reaches the top of the stage and looks out across the crowd to see Wynonna being propped up by peacekeepers at the very back, forced to bear witness to her little sister’s funeral. Wynonna had been wrong. The Games aren’t just about victors, that couldn’t be more evident. With pretty-boy Champ Hardy and sweet Waverly Earp as tributes, the District 2 Victor’s Village won't be expecting any new inhabitants this year. No, this reaping wasn’t about selecting a victor, it was about sending a message.

Because the whispers will continue long after Waverly and Champ board their train to the Capitol and Wynonna is strung up in the gallows for treason, or at least that's what Waverly fears is her sister's fate given the way she was hauled off like a rebel conspirator. Eventually, the citizens of District 2 will piece together the unfortunate story of the girl who was asked to volunteer and refused, making her sister pay the price for her act of defiance.

The unspoken message is painfully clear.

Even in a Career District, the Games aren’t voluntary. They never were.


	2. Chapter 2

Nicole watches as the landscape changes before her and forests of tall redwoods are replaced with rolling hills, and eventually, a glittering coastline. As beautiful as the ocean is with its endless expanse of blue and white-crested waves crashing towards the shore, the vastness makes Nicole feel small and exposed and so very far from home.

She had been mentally preparing herself for this day all year, for the moment she would have to say goodbye to the towering trees and small wood cabins of District 7. The moment she would have to hug her little siblings for the last time and make promises of returning home that she knew she couldn’t keep. She’s gone over it in her head relentlessly ever since the day she took her tesserae and counted up how many times her name would be entered that year.

Fifty-one.

Fifty-one slips of paper with her name on it were to be placed in the reaping bowl. Nicole knew other kids her age who also took tesserae and had their own fair share of entries, but she had never known someone to surpass fifty. It was unheard of. But with seven little mouths to feed and Nicole having just turned seventeen at the beginning of summer, the entries added up quickly, and based on Nicole’s calculations, they added up to fifty-one.

With the knowledge of her fifty-one papers in the back of her head, Nicole had spent the following months coming to terms with her incredibly bad odds and the reality that come reaping day, there was a good chance she’d hear her name called out and be ushered on the next train to the Capitol.

So as she sits on that very train, still wearing her clothes from the lumbar yard– having to attend a reaping at two was not a valid excuse for missing your shift that morning –she shouldn’t be feeling the overwhelming sense of fear and loneliness that she currently she is. After all, she had plenty of time to make peace with her premature, televised death.

“It’s magnificent, isn’t it?”

Nicole startles and turns to find a tall lanky boy with carefully combed brown hair standing behind her, his arms behind his back and his eyes trained on the sea.

“Robin, you can’t just sneak up on people like that,” Nicole warns, a hand to her chest.

A rueful smile stretches across the boy’s face. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? In the arena at least.”

The reminder of why they’re on this train and what awaits them in the coming weeks causes a hollow pit to form in Nicole’s stomach and she speaks more harshly than the boy deserves. “Well we’re not in the arena, so you can’t kill me yet.”

Nicole watches as Robin’s face falls and she instantly regrets her tone.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he says softly and Nicole sighs.

“I know.” She turns back to the sea, unable to continue looking into those wide, kind eyes and knowing that the light inside them will be snuffed out before the end of the month.

Robin Jett is a boy far too gentle for the harsh environment he was raised in. His parents may have belonged to one of the wealthier families in District 7, but that’s not saying much. Being the son of a carpenter and spending his days engraving designs into Capitol furniture instead of chopping down trees led Robin to be significantly smaller than most of the boys his age. His nimble fingers that served him so well in his father’s woodshop did nothing for him on the school grounds where he was often the target of the other children’s misdirected anger. Since they couldn’t punch a peacekeeper, punching the boy who got to live in a house with air conditioning and who never had to work a day in the yard was the next best thing. It didn’t help that Robin got along better with the girls in his class and liked to sit and read books inside rather than play sports in the field.

Four years ago, her sister Fiona had burst through the door with a knobby-kneed boy of age ten, his collared shirt smeared with mud and a ring of purple around his left eye. It was the first of many times that Nicole would dig a pack of frozen meat out of their ice chest for Robin to hold to a swollen eye. The soft-spoken boy who sat slumped in her kitchen chair that afternoon didn’t change much over the years. His quiet disposition and fierce determination not to cry despite the bruises remained the same, but with each passing year the boy grew taller and taller until now at age fourteen, he nearly reaches Nicole’s height.

She and Robin weren’t necessarily friends back in District 7, they were in different grades and ran with completely different crowds, but Fiona adored him and after patching up his scrapes enough times, Nicole started to think of him as another little brother. She already had three of them, what was one more?

It seems like some cruel twist of fate that her little sister’s best friend is the one being sent into the arena with her. She knows he won’t kill her, and she sure as hell isn’t killing him.

“The mentors asked me to come get you,” Robin says tentatively. “They want to talk strategy.”

Nicole scoffs, “Of course they do.”

She feels a hand come to rest on her shoulder so lightly, it could have been a ghost’s. “It’s their job to help us Nic, I think we should at least hear them out.”

When Nicole turns back around, she sees the fear in Robin’s eyes and it’s like she’s looking at that scared little boy who was carried into their kitchen four years ago. _If I’m still scared after months of preparing for this,_ she thinks, _he must be terrified._

“I’ll come to the strategy meeting,” Nicole concedes, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going to listen to anything they tell me.”

Robin smiles softly, satisfied that Nicole is at least attending the meeting, and heads down the train corridor towards the dining car. Nicole reluctantly follows.

A lavish meal has been laid out for the tributes and mentors that makes Robin’s eyes pop out of his head and Nicole’s face grow hot with anger. The table is piled with so much food, it’s practically falling off the edges. After spending her whole life working until she nearly collapsed just to keep her family from going hungry, the surplus of food before her is insulting.

“Well don’t just stare at it, come eat,” A gruff voice calls from the table, “Get some meat on those bones before you’re both starving in the arena.”

Nicole is shocked by the man’s bluntness but finds herself moving to sit in the empty seat across from him. Robin scrambles into the chair on her left and immediately starts scooping food onto his plate from the array of platters before them.

“I’m Randy Nedley,” The man says, extending a calloused hand across the table to Nicole. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced yet.”

Nicole shakes his hand and notices the crinkles around his eyes. “Nicole,” She responds tersely, removing her hand a moment before what would be considered polite.

The mentor is unfazed by Nicole's hostility. He introduces himself to Robin before addressing the two together. “As you’ve probably gathered, I’m one of your mentors. I was a tribute like both of you once and it’s my job to coach you up until the Games and get you sponsors once you’re in the arena.”

Robin listens with rapt attention and begins firing off questions about sponsors and what happens when they arrive at the Capitol. Nedley answers each question patiently until Nicole finally interrupts.

“You said you were one of our mentors, where’s the other one?” Her eyes look pointedly at the empty seat next to Nedley and the older man sighs.

“Well technically, I’m the boy’s mentor,” He explains, nodding at Robin. “Your mentor, Miss Haught, is… how do I put this? She’s a bit temperamental. She might join us in an hour or not at all. It’s hard to say with her really.”

Nicole looks at the man across from her incredulously. “Are you kidding me?” Robin stares down at his food while Nicole’s voice rises with her growing anger. “Why am I here then, if my mentor can’t even bother to show up?”

She stands abruptly, the chair scraping against the hardwood floor, and moves to exit the dining hall when she’s halted by a voice behind her.

“Sit your ass back down princess, I’m here.”

Behind her is a girl who can only be a year or two older than Nicole at most. Her dark brown hair is tied up haphazardly in a bun and her otherwise pretty face fixes Nicole with a hard stare that makes her feel like a specimen under a microscope. The girl’s eyes rake down Nicole’s body before settling back on her face.

“You don’t look too weak, that’s good,” She notes, stepping closer to Nicole and continuing her analysis, “but with a face like that… sweetie, you don’t want to be victor, trust me.” She pats Nicole’s cheek in a patronizing way and Nicole jerks at the touch. The girl is unbothered by Nicole’s obvious discomfort and saunters over to the table, plopping down into the chair beside Nedley.

“You’re Johanna Mason,” Robin says excitedly, “You’re the first girl to ever win from our district.”

The girl rolls her eyes as she stabs a piece of meat with her fork. “Whoopee for me.”

Now that Robin’s said her name, Nicole recalls the 71st Hunger Games where the District 7 girl hid out for the first half and pretended to be harmless. Once most of the tributes had been picked off by Careers, she emerged from the woods with an axe and chopped them all down. Nicole has to admit, the strategy was impressive, but right now she’s not feeling the least bit confident in the girl’s mentoring abilities.

“How old are you even, eighteen?” Nicole asks, returning to the table to give Johanna her own scrutinizing look.

“Nineteen, but that doesn’t matter.” Nicole would beg to differ, but something about the way Johanna’s smile doesn’t meet her eyes tells Nicole she should keep her mouth shut.

“What matters,” Johanna continues, “Is that I’ve actually been in the arena and gotten out. Have you?”

Nicole clenches her jaw and shakes her head.

“So that makes me perfectly qualified to be your mentor. And if you don’t like it, you can try and survive the games without any gifts, I don’t really care.” Johanna plucks a grape off one of the platters and pops it into her mouth, “Makes my job easier.”

Nicole forces herself to swallow down her pride and not tell her mentor she can _go to hell_. However annoying she may be, Johanna Mason will be Nicole’s only lifeline to the real world while she’s in the arena. Out of all the ways she’s imagined herself potentially dying in the Games, starvation is not at the top of her list. She’d like to go quickly and preferably painlessly, though she doubts she’ll be granted such a luxury.

“So if you’re my mentor,” Nicole starts calmly, “Then what do you suggest my strategy be?”

Johanna takes a long sip from her wine glass before she speaks. “Don’t be stupid, and don’t get killed,” She states bluntly.

Nicole scoffs. “That’s hardly a strategy.”

“Fine,” Johanna bites back, leaning forward in her chair and placing her elbows on the table so she can direct her glare straight at Nicole. “You want some advice?”

“Yes I would like some advice from my _perfectly qualified_ mentor,” Nicole says through gritted teeth.

Robin watches the exchange with wide eyes, his head darting back and forth between the two girls. Nedley appears to be more interested in his steak than in the dispute happening around him.

“Okay then here’s my advice. You take offense. My strategy won’t work again, not this soon, and you’re clearly strong, anyone can see that. You’re wearing a yard uniform so I’m guessing you know how to handle an axe. In training, you get your hands on one and show off. You want the Careers to notice you, but not see you as a threat.”

Nicole starts to interrupt, “How-”

“You make nice,” Johanna doesn’t give her a chance to finish her question, she already knows what it is. “The goal is not to make you a target of the Careers, but a member of the pack. It’s happened before where they include tributes from other districts who they think could be useful. So you make yourself useful. Then, when you get in the arena, you play along and help the Careers pick off the weaker tributes. Right before you sense that the pack is going to break up, you offer to take watch for the night, and while they sleep, you kill them all.”

Nicole is too stunned to speak and she hears Robin's fork clatter against his plate.

“Quietly,” Johanna adds, “You have to kill them quietly so you don’t wake the rest of the pack, cause then you’re dead. Suffocation might be a good option. Or poison.” Once she’s finished her speech, Johanna focuses back on her plate of food, as if she were simply discussing the weather, not the best way to kill a person.

“I’m not going to kill anyone,” Nicole announces, breaking the silence.

Even Nedley looks up from his steak at her admission and raises a bushy eyebrow.

“Oh honey,” Johanna speaks with that same falsely sweet, condescending tone from before, “In the Games, everyone’s a killer.”

“Well I won’t be,” Nicole states defiantly. “I refuse to let them turn me into something I’m not.”

“Ugh,” Johanna whines, turning to look at Nedley, “Why did I have to get the self-righteous one?”

The older man just shakes his head. “There’s nothing wrong with having morals and sticking to them. I think Miss Haught will go far in the arena, regardless of whether or not she takes a life of her own.”

Nicole is taken aback by the other mentor’s confidence in her after knowing her for such a short amount of time. So far, she’s been hostile and difficult throughout most of the meal.

“What makes you think that?” She questions before adding a tentative, “Um, sir.”

The older man chuckles at the formality. “Because, Miss Haught, you’ve got fire in your soul. You’re angry, I can see that, but you care. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be so disgruntled about having Johanna as a mentor.”

Johanna shoots Nedley a glare, but the man ignores it and remains focused on Nicole. “Those two things can be a dangerous combination, but I also think you’re smart. If you can learn to direct your anger at those who actually deserve it and to see the bigger picture, you might just be the tribute the districts need.”

“You mean the district?” Nicole clarifies, still attempting to wrap her head around the mentor’s cryptic words. “The tribute our district needs.”

There’s a glint in Nedley’s eye as he answers. “Is that not what I said?”

“I appreciate you believing in me, sir, but I don’t want to be a victor.”

Nedley smiles from across the table. “Oh, I’d think much less of you if you did.”

The remainder of the meal is less explosive than the first half, and consists of Robin continuing his barrage of questions, Nicole sitting silently, and Johanna finishing off an entire bottle of wine on her own before excusing herself to her quarters.

Once her mentor has left, Nicole decides she is no longer obligated to stay and curtly bids Nedley goodnight. She pats Robin’s shoulder affectionately but doesn’t linger long enough to see the disappointed look on his face at her early departure.

〜

She spends a while in the shower, experimenting with various buttons and knobs and washing away the dirt under fingernails and the scent of pine needles on her skin until every last trace of District 7 is sent spiraling down the drain.

After an hour of tossing and turning in her too-soft bed, Nicole finally gives up on the idea of sleep and slips out of her room. Her sock-covered feet hardly make a noise as she wanders through the empty corridors. When she reaches the main car, her muffled footsteps cause Robin to jump from his spot on the couch.

“Sorry,” She mutters apologetically but Robin just smiles.

“Looks like we’re even now.” He pats the empty spot beside him. “I’m watching the reaping tapes, care to join?”

Nicole’s eyes focus on the screen before her that casts an eerie glow over the otherwise dark train car. An image of a stage surrounded by a crowd of people is frozen in place and brings back a rush of unpleasant memories.

“Robin, why are you doing this to yourself?”

The boy turns to look at Nicole and shrugs. “I’m doing it _for_ myself. You know, scoping out the competition.”

Nicole’s eyebrows raise curiously. “When did you start caring about winning?”

“When did you stop?” Robin challenges and it catches Nicole by surprise.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know about you, Nicole, but I don’t want to die. There are too many things I haven’t done yet, that I haven’t gotten to experience,” Robin pauses for a moment before he regains his focus, “I know winning’s a long shot for me, but I’m not going down without a fight. I’m going to at least try. Why won’t you?”

Nicole feels naked despite her long cotton sleep pants and top. The hard exterior she’s been presenting over the past twelve hours crumbles and she moves to join Robin on the couch.

“I just don’t want to be some pawn in their game,” She explains sincerely. “I don’t think I’ve got what it takes to win, so if I try and end up dying anyway, what’s the point in spending my final days killing people? I don’t want my last moments of life to be spent doing something that I think is wrong.”

Robin is quiet for a moment as he thinks over Nicole’s words. “I understand that, I do. But Nicole, you do realize you actually have a chance at winning? Me, I’ll probably die in the bloodbath…” Robin gives a self-deprecating smile that makes Nicole grimace. She doesn’t want to think about him dying within the first hour of the Games, however likely it may be.

“…but you? Nicole, you’re strong. I’ve seen you carry in tons of firewood and I know you’ve been working in the yard since you were a kid. You know how to use a hatchet, and how to start a fire, and I bet you can climb trees too,” Nicole doesn’t protest because she can, in fact, scale a tree in under a minute, “It’s kind of offensive that you won’t even try.”

Nicole gives Robin a baffled look but the boy continues on, more heated than before. “Yeah, you know what, it is offensive. Because here I am, with next to no chance of winning, let alone making it past the first night, and _I’m_ putting in more effort than _you_ , who could actually win the damn thing if you just tried."

“Robin, I- I’m sorry I didn’t mean to upset you,” Nicole hurries to calm the boy but he shakes off her apology.

“Well you did,” Robin states curtly. “Because if I’m not going to make it out of that arena, I at least want to know that maybe you might. And if you won’t try for me, you should try for Fiona, because she would for you.”

Nicole sucks in a breath of air at the mention of her sister.

“And Marcus, and Thea, and Willow, and Cedar, and Han, and Everly.” Robin rattles off her siblings’ names and each one is like a punch to the gut. “You should try for them. Giving up makes you selfish.”

“Don’t call me that,” Nicole warns, “You of all people know I’ve spent my whole life taking care of them, taking care of _you_. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not selfish.”

“I know that,” Robin responds, his voice calmer and softer. “But that’s why you have to try. Because they need you, and they’re all waiting for you to come back, even if you think you're not.”

The truth of Robin’s words sinks in and Nicole feels the defensiveness leave her. If she dies in the arena, who’s going to put the food on the table? Not her unstable mother and not her dead father, that’s for sure. That leaves her siblings, most of whom are still under the age of ten and too young to work in the yard. Fiona would be the new oldest but Nicole can’t picture her delicate little sister chopping down trees all day, let alone even lifting an axe. That would leave Marcus, only eleven years old, to pick up a shift in the lumbar yard. The thought of her baby brother working the grueling hours she once did and coming home with blisters on his once unmarked hands makes her feel sick.

“Okay then, let’s watch these tapes,” Nicole agrees, feeling a new sense of urgency about the Games.

Robin smiles and presses play, “I knew you were a fighter, Nic.”

Nicole’s still not sure she’s up to killing people, it goes against everything she believes, but it’s true she’s no stranger to fighting for the people she cares about. Her fight was in the lumbar yard, her enemy towering redwoods and the rumbling of her siblings' empty stomachs. How different will it be when her enemy is another frightened kid like herself, when she has to chop down a person instead of a tree? Nicole imagines it’s much, much different.

They speed through the District 12 reaping, the tributes are as thin and underfed as they always are and Nicole and Robin decide they won’t be a threat. The District 11 boy hardly looks a day older than Marcus and Nicole has to look away as the camera focuses on his grieving family. The other tribute from 11, a girl by the name of Sage, is significantly older than the boy and by the way she walks up to the stage, her face concealing any emotions and her strong shoulders set in a hard line, Nicole knows this girl won’t be going down without a fight.

The reapings start to blur together as they move through the districts, each location as depressing as the next, though with its own unique air of oppression. District 9 is characterized by the haunting contrast of plentiful fields surrounding a crowd of sunken, hungry faces. Heavy smog permeates the air in District 8 and the tributes are covered in a layer of factory grime. Robin and Nicole make the unspoken decision to skip through their own reaping, not wanting to see their families’ distraught faces.

The next memorable reaping is District 4, which contains the first volunteer tributes they’ve seen so far. The tributes’ features are eerily similar, both have tanned skin, light blonde hair, and steely blue eyes. They appear to be around the same age and Nicole wonders if they’re twins, though the thought seems absurd to her. Why would you choose to enter the Games with your sibling knowing only one of you can make it out alive?

Factory chimneys rise up behind the stage in District 3 as the tributes make their way up the steps. Both are of slight stature but don’t display evidence of hunger. It would be easy to write them off as non-threatening, but Nicole notices the way the boy’s eyes shift as he stands on stage and his hands fiddle with a small piece of metal, and she knows not to discount him just yet. Intelligence can sometimes be more powerful than brute strength.

The District 2 reaping begins as expected, with a muscular, confident boy emerging from the crowd to volunteer. He volunteers so fast, the boy who was originally called doesn’t even have time to step forward before the volunteer is striding up the stage. Nicole rolls her eyes. Could they not make it any more obvious that they train and pick their own tributes for the games?

The next name is called and Nicole waits for the other Career tribute to volunteer when the recording suddenly goes black. Robin sits forward and starts pressing buttons on his remote thinking the television has glitched, but seconds later the screen is once again filled with the scene of a reaping. Nicole quickly realizes they’ve missed part of the recording because the female tribute is already walking up the stage.

_Weird,_ Nicole thinks, _the broadcast must have cut out._ She would have expected something like this to happen in one of the rural, poorer districts where electricity is unreliable, but not in the wealthy munitions headquarters of District 2.

Once the girl has reached the top, Nicole takes in her appearance and is struck by how beautiful she is. Sure the boy tribute is conventionally attractive, but Nicole’s always been drawn to more feminine features. What strikes her more than the girl’s undeniable beauty, is the haunted look in her eyes as she stares out into the crowd before her.

Nicole sees the subtle shift in her expression the moment she turns to face the crowd and watches as the color drains from her face. The girl struggles to keep her expression neutral but there’s no denying the pure terror reflected in those hazel eyes. Nicole finds it perplexing, and uncharacteristic of a District 2 volunteer. They are normally cocky, determined, and borderline bloodthirsty, but this girl looks shaken and angry. She can’t help but wonder what lies on the other side of the camera as the girl’s eyes widen in horror, then harden in rage.

Once they finish going through the tapes, Nicole and Robin part ways and head to their respective rooms for what remains of the night. As Nicole slides under the silken covers, she feels the heavy weight of sleep pulling her under, and slips into a fitful night of haunted dreams.

〜

She’s seven again and running to the door of their small cabin at the sound of heavy knocking. She pulls it open to find a tall man dressed in an all white uniform. The man is briefly caught off guard by the appearance of a child, but quickly regains his composure and asks Nicole if her mother is home. Nicole tells the man she’s sleeping, which isn’t entirely a lie. Her mother is at the back of the cabin, curled up in her bed. She’s not asleep but rather in a morphling induced trance, but the man in white doesn’t need to know that. He hands her a letter and asks her to give it to her mother when she wakes.

As soon as the man leaves, Nicole sits down by the hearth and rips open the letter herself. She scrunches her eyebrows as she tries to make sense of the long words printed in neat type across the page. She recognizes her father’s name followed by the word _“accident”_ and _“yard”_ , the place she knows her daddy disappears to every morning, and finally _“dead”_. Small drops of water begin to soak the paper and it takes Nicole a moment to recognize them as her own tears.

The words swirl off the page and wrap themselves around Nicole, sealing her in and cutting off the air from her lungs. Just as she’s about to suffocate, the dream shifts, and she’s no longer sat on her cabin floor but in the crowd at the reaping.

She waits for her name to be called and to make the unbearable walk through the mass of sympathetic faces when instead another girl’s name is spoken into the microphone. Nicole watches as a girl with long, wavy brown hair emerges from the crowd and begins the fateful trek to the stage. It’s the girl from District 2 and as soon as Nicole recognizes her, the background morphs from the forests of 7 to the towering, stone buildings of 2.

When the girl reaches the stage she wears the same disturbed look she wore in the tape and Nicole tries to turn to see what she’s looking at but she can’t move. Her feet are rooted to the ground and her neck refuses to swivel. She begins to panic, feeling trapped, and fights against the invisible force keeping her still. Whispers ripple through the crowd and the girl continues to stare ahead. It almost looks like she’s staring at Nicole.

The crowd moves and now everyone is turning to face Nicole. Their faces mirror the girl on stage, and Nicole has the terrifying realization that _she_ is the horrible thing the girl is looking at.

Her eyes flicker down and there’s something dark and red coating her body. Her limbs are suddenly free to move like she was put on pause and somebody finally decided to press play again, and she holds her hands up to her face only to find them dripping in blood. Nicole screams but nothing comes out. She stumbles backward and her foot catches on something soft. She turns to find a body sprawled out before her, an axe wedged in a young boy’s stomach, blood still seeping from the wound.

The boy from District 11 stares up at Nicole with blank eyes, his lips already losing their color and his mouth slightly agape, frozen in shock. The crowd around her grows agitated and begins whispering the word, “murderer”, over and over. Nicole shakes her head and tries to speak, tries to tell them that she didn’t do this, she wouldn’t kill someone, but the words get stuck in her throat. She looks down at her blood-soaked hands and the axe that has her father’s initials carved into the handle, the one she took with her to her first shift in the yard, and wonders if perhaps she is a murderer after all.

Nicole blinks and the boy’s face and complexion morph until they resemble that of her brother’s, and now it’s Marcus’ empty, dead eyes staring up at her. She can’t bear to look anymore and turns back around, her bloody hands shaking, and is met with the anguished eyes of the District 2 girl, watching her from the stage.

She wants to call out and tell the girl she didn’t do this, that she’s not a killer, but the mummers of the crowd fill her head with lies and her own hands betray her with their crimson coating. _I am the monster,_ she thinks, and just as the mob is about to descend on her, she’s jolted awake.

〜

A fine layer of sweat covers her body and Nicole rips the sheets off her hot limbs. She sits up and brings her hands before her, relieved to find them clean and free of blood. A shaky breath is released from her lungs and Nicole flops back down on the mattress, exhausted. She tries to go back to sleep given the early hour, but every time she closes her eyes, all she sees is the tormented eyes of the District 2 girl staring back at her.

Eventually, Nicole decides she has no choice but to get up. She heads to the closet and strips off her sweat-soaked clothes, trading her sleep attire for a pair of corduroy pants and a soft white shirt. They’re the least offensive clothes she can find in the closet that’s bursting with absurd colors. Before heading out the door, Nicole makes the last-minute decision to dig her flannel out from the pile of used clothes on the floor and slip it on over the shirt. She knows this will earn her a distasteful look from their escort at breakfast, but the flannel smells like home and reminds her that even if she’s wearing Capitol clothes and eating Capitol food, she’s still a district girl.

The train car is silent as Nicole makes her way down the hallway, the rest of its passengers still asleep. She reaches the central car and is momentarily blinded by the first rays of sunlight glinting through the windows that line the wall to her right. Once her eyes adjust to the light, Nicole steps closer to the glass and gasps at the sight before her.

They’ve left the sea behind and are now rocketing across a large suspension bridge that stretches over a vast canyon of green. On the other side of the bridge, tall towers of glass and sleek metal rise above the earth and glitter in the morning sun. Nicole takes in the impressive skyline and digs her fingernails into her palm to wake herself in case she’s still dreaming.

But she’s not dreaming anymore. The glistening city before her is real, as real as the twenty-two other tributes she saw on tape last night and who she’ll have to fight to the death in the arena in one week’s time.

They’ve arrived at the Capitol, and the 73rd Hunger Games are about to begin.


	3. Chapter 3

Nicole examines her reflection in the floor-length mirror and grimaces. Her body was brutally stripped of any traces of hair that morning only to be covered from head to toe in a tight, itchy material adorned with a scattering of twigs and leaves. The fabric clings to her body in a way that might’ve been flattering had foliage not been sewn into the garment, giving it a tacky, comical appearance.

“You mustn’t forget the headpiece,” Her stylist calls from across the room in that unsettling Capitol accent.

An elderly woman with unnaturally blonde hair for her age makes her way over to Nicole and places a wreath of woven twigs upon her head. The rough pieces of wood scrape her scalp but Nicole bites her tongue and refrains from commenting on it. She’s in the heart of the Capitol and the doors to the dressing room are heavily guarded on both sides. Despite the pampering she’s received today, Nicole knows she’s a prisoner being dressed up for her execution. She’s in no place to start making demands.

There’s something about the way her stylist’s gaze can never seem to settle on one object for more than a few seconds and her clownish makeup makes her stormy eyes appear that much wilder that makes Nicole question whether the woman is entirely sane. There’s also the fact that she dressed Nicole up as a tree.

The stylist places her talon-like hands on Nicole’s shoulders and she has to fight the urge to shake them off. She leans in close, so that her face is mere inches from Nicole’s, and a crooked smile stretches across her withered skin.

“What do you think, my little sapling?”

Nicole’s body goes rigid but she lies through her teeth, “I love it.”

“I knew you would,” The woman beams, her grip on Nicole’s shoulders too tight and her perfume, a sickly sweet concoction of smells Nicole can’t identify, invading her senses. “You Sevens love your trees, I find it so charming.”

Nicole plasters a forced smile on her face, internally rolling her eyes at the woman’s ignorance. She's spent most of her life staring down the trunks of massive trees and hammering her axe into the side until her hands were raw and her shoulders ached. In Seven, trees are cut down, sliced up, and sometimes shredded down to bits before being hauled off to the Capitol. Dressing her as a tree is like dressing her as a pig headed to the slaughterhouse. It feels dehumanizing and cruel, but this lady seems to think it’s a clever nod to a place she knows nothing about.

She’s saved from having to continue the uncomfortable conversation any longer when the doors to the dressing room swing open and an irritated Johanna comes marching through. Nicole has never been so relieved to see her impetuous mentor, as her entrance causes the stylist to at last relinquish Nicole from her vice-like grip.

“I need to talk to my tribute, Bellona,” Johanna orders, her foot tapping impatiently. “The parade starts in twenty.”

“Why of course, Miss Mason.” The stylist’s lips pinch like she’s just tasted something sour.

Nicole has a feeling Johanna was less tactful than herself in her own session with the stylist and must have made clear any grievances she had with the woman’s work.

When Bellona doesn’t immediately move to leave Johanna adds a brisk, “Alone,” and the woman begrudgingly removes herself from the dressing chamber, throwing Johanna a nasty look on the way out.

The moment the heavy doors slam closed Johanna gives Nicole’s outfit a once over and shakes her head. “Fucking idiot.”

She steps closer and resituates the wooden crown on Nicole’s red locks that have been infused with so many products, she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to wash them all out.

“She makes everyone from our district into a goddamn tree, it’s pathetic,” Johanna mutters as she fusses with Nicole’s outfit in a useless attempt to make it less appalling. “It’s like she wants the other tributes to laugh at us during the parade.”

Nicole eyes her outfit distastefully in the mirror and sighs. “So much for impressing the Careers.”

She wasn’t completely on board with Johanna’s _infiltrate the Career pack_ plan, but she doesn’t want to be the laughing stock of the tributes either.

Johanna stops messing with the faux leaf she was trying to move away from Nicole’s face and gives her a hard stare.

“Oh no, we’re not changing the plan. You need to walk out of here like you’re the deadliest fucking tree in all of Panem.”

Nicole snorts at this description but Johanna ignores her. “If you feel uncomfortable, you’ll look uncomfortable. And weak. That’s not what we want. So hold your head up and don’t let them see you sweat.”

Nicole has to admit, it’s not the worst advice she’s received from her mentor so she agrees and musters up as much confidence as she can while dressed as a shrub and follows Johanna out of the dressing room and towards the elevator. They meet up with Nedley and Robin, who wears a slightly different set of foliage on his latex suit, and file into the sleek compartment together. The elevator plummets towards the ground and Nicole feels her stomach flip at the rapid change in elevation.

Suddenly they’re stopping and Nicole fears the elevator has broken and they’ll all go tumbling to their death, but then the doors slide open and another group of mentors and tributes squeeze their way into the chamber.

Nicole’s breath catches in her throat when she realizes the tributes are from District 2 and the girl from the reaping tapes comes to stand a few inches to her right. Both tributes are dressed in a sleek ensemble that resembles combat gear but surely wouldn’t do any good in a real battle. Their jumpsuits are all white, similar to that of a peacekeeper’s, but Nicole’s never seen a peacekeeper that looks like this. The girl’s outfit has a neckline that slices down her chest and would be entirely impractical in a fight but is sure to garner her plenty of admirers in the Capitol. Admirers with pockets full of money to spend on sponsor gifts.

Nicole does her best not to stare at the stunning girl beside her, though she can’t help but let her eyes shift over as the elevator rockets downward. Similar to Nicole, the girl’s been given a heavy layer of makeup, but while Nicole found her own to be excessive and unnatural, the District 2 girl’s makeup only enhances her already perfect features and makes her look like an untouchable killing machine who would slit your throat and you’d thank her for it because she’s just that damn beautiful. Her stylist is no Bellona, that’s for sure. They knew exactly what they were doing when they crafted this look.

“Do I have something on my face?” A soft voice whispers to her right.

Nicole is pulled out of her daze to find the District 2 girl is staring back at her, a perplexed look on her pretty face.

Nicole feels her cheeks grow hot at being caught staring. “No, you don’t, sorry.” She quickly turns her attention to the front of the elevator and mentally curses herself for being so obvious.

Her ears are met with the angelic sound of a giggle, so out of place in this tense elevator car full of quietly conspiring mentors and tributes.

“It’s okay, the outfits a little much, I know.” The girl speaks under her breath, so as not to call attention to their conversation.

Nicole allows her eyes to flicker back over to the girl beside her and she’s sucked in by those hazel eyes that bear no trace of their previous torment but instead, sparkle in the florescent elevator light.

“At least you’re not a tree,” Nicole whispers, gesturing to the array of twigs and greenery currently adorning her body.

She’s rewarded with a dazzling smile that she can’t help but return.

“District 7,” The girl observes, her eyes tracing over Nicole’s form and making her want to squirm in her skin-tight suit.

“How’d you know?” Nicole jokes, masking her insecurities in an attempt at humor.

The girl’s lip is quirked up in a grin and her eyes dance with mischief. “Just a guess.”

When the elevator finally slows to a halt and the doors slide open with a ding, Nicole finds herself wishing the ride were somehow longer.

The District 2 party exits first but the girl tribute hangs back a second longer, meeting Nicole’s eyes one last time and whispering, “Good luck out there, Seven.”

“You too,” Nicole breathes, just as the girl is turning to follow her mentor. She’s not sure if the girl even hears her before she’s ushered out by Johanna and thrust into a chaotic throng of people.

The elevator has brought them to the ground floor that contains twelve horse-drawn chariots and a mass of Capitol workers bustling around, preparing for the parade to begin. Tributes and mentors gather by their chariots and Nicole is surprised by how many she recognizes from the tapes.

_These are the faces I’ll see projected in the sky each night,_ she thinks _, and one night, they might see mine_. The thought makes her shiver.

Her face must betray her and reveal her anxious thoughts because Johanna comes up beside her and whispers urgently in Nicole’s ear.

“This is the first time the other tributes and sponsors are seeing you in person and right now, you look like you’re about to puke. Pull it together, kid.”

Nicole tenses at the word, _kid_ , given that her mentor is barely two years her senior, but she does her best to settle her face into an unreadable, serious expression.

Johanna nods, satisfied with Nicole’s new demeanor, and starts leading her towards their chariot that’s situated near the center of the procession.

“Remember what we talked about,” She urges as they reach their destination.

“Don’t let them see me sweat,” Nicole repeats back to her mentor and sees the slightest hint of approval reflected back in those chaotic brown eyes.

Johanna moves to stand beside Nedley and the two talk in hushed tones as they assess the other tributes. She meets Robin’s gaze and the boy walks over to her side, his cheeks flushed from embarrassment over his outfit and his left hand fiddling relentlessly with a ring on one of his fingers

“Nice branches,” He comments, a small smile on his face.

“You too. Is that…” Nicole squints her eyes at the green needles fanned out around the collar of Robin’s latex suit, “pine?”

Robin laughs and the familiar sound eases Nicole’s nerves. “I’m afraid so, I smell like a Christmas tree.”

“Happy Holidays,” Nicole mocks in the Capitol accent, “And may the odds be ever in your favor.”

The two burst into a fit of laughter that has the District 8 tributes casting curious looks their way. It’s a mad sort of laughter, born out of their own nervous energy and the sheer absurdity of everything Capitol.

“They must think we’ve lost it,” Nicole muses, her eyes glancing over at the tributes to their left.

Robin shrugs, his leaves rustling with the movement of his shoulders. “Maybe they’ll think we’re so crazy, they won’t try to mess with us in the arena.”

“Is that our strategy now?” Nicole laughs, “Act completely mental to scare off the other tributes?”

Robin joins in Nicole’s laughter before his face grows serious again. “You said our strategy,” He notes, his voice skeptical.

“Well yeah,” Nicole replies casually, unsure why the phrase caused the boy to falter.

“I didn’t know we were a team. I thought Johanna had her own strategy for you.” Robin goes back to twisting the ring and won’t meet Nicole’s eyes. “The Careers will never take me, so I figured we’d be going in separately.”

Nicole reaches out and halts Robin’s anxious movements, forcing him to look back up.

“The Career plan is a long shot,” Nicole explains, “And besides, I’ll never be able to trust them as much as I trust you. We’re family, Robin. I’ve got your back, always. Even in the arena.”

She watches as the first genuine smile graces Robin’s face and he clasps her hand with his own. “I’ve got your back too Nic, I swear it.”

Nicole has to blink away the tears that threaten to spill over and force her face to remain impassive as she feels her heart flood with sisterly love for the boy before her. Her heart then constricts at the knowledge that even with an alliance, there’s no way both of them can make it out of the arena alive.

She focuses instead on the wooden band that incases one of Robin’s slender fingers.

“What’s this?” She asks, examining the intricate carvings etched into polished wood.

“My token.” Robin removes the ring and holds it up for Nicole to see. “My stylist said we get to take one item into the arena and well… this is the only thing I had on me at the reaping.”

Nicole would be irritated at her own stylist for failing to mention this if she actually had something sentimental of her own, but she doesn’t. “It’s lovely.”

Robin slips the ring back on and runs a hand through his gelled hair, making it stick up in odd places. “It was my father’s. We didn’t always get along but, he was my old man, you know.”

Nicole nods and feels the familiar pang that slices through her chest whenever she’s reminded of her late father. “Yeah,” She manages to get out, though her voice sounds strained and Robin immediately picks up on the shift in her tone.

“Oh Nic, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” The boy before her fumbles over his words and she cuts him off before he can finish his apology.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you can have a piece of him with you.” Nicole smiles gently as she fixes Robin’s hair where it’s become askew. The sound of a gong rings out through the chamber and echoes off the high vaulted ceilings. “I think that’s our queue.”

Their eyes lock and though neither of them says a word, they know the other is feeling the same trepidation and unease. It’s time for them to board their chariot and be paraded in front of flocks of Capitol citizens like circus animals- caged, feral, and brought here for their own sick amusement. The elegant chariots and gaudy costumes are all a farce. A way to make the yearly murder of twenty-three children more digestible for Capitol viewers.

Every aspect of the Games disgusts her. And yet, if Nicole wants to ever see her family again, she has to give in to the twisted charade. Because tonight is about sponsors and sponsors equal food. Johanna has been drilling this into her head all afternoon.

Nicole climbs into the bed of the chariot and Robin follows. Nedley gives them each a firm nod and wishes them good luck. He even walks over to the horses and pats their chestnut hides affectionately. The action makes Nicole smile. Despite his rough exterior, she can tell the man has a soft heart.

She’s jolted out of her thoughts as a hand smacks her on her behind. Nicole yelps and whips around to find Johanna’s smirking face.

“What the hell was that for?”

“To remind you to be the sexiest motherfucking tree those Capitol prudes have ever seen,” Johanna explains with a twisted smile.

“I thought I was supposed to be the deadliest tree,” Nicole challenges, her backside still stinging from the slap.

“Be both!” Johanna shouts as the horses jerk the chariot forward, her arms thrown up in the air. “Be the sexiest, deadliest tree in the goddamn country!”

Nicole shakes her head at her mentor’s retreating form. “She’s insane,” Nicole mutters, turning her attention forward. “I’m being mentored by a lunatic.”

Robin says something in response but Nicole is momentarily distracted by one of the chariots up ahead. Near the front of the procession is a glistening white chariot pulled by two massive thoroughbreds. The chariot is just leaving the holding area, and the evening sun coats the tributes in a honey-colored glow. The tributes remind Nicole of ancient statues cut from pure gold, their faces symmetrical and their stances strong.

She thinks back to her encounter with the girl tribute in the elevator, the way she emanated an aura of unearthly beauty and quiet power. Nicole couldn’t help but be attracted to her, even though the girl likely knew at least six different ways to kill her right there. There’s something terrifying about the ability to have that effect on people. To seduce and frighten them all at once.

_Perhaps Johanna isn’t so insane after all_ , Nicole thinks. She then tilts her chin up, swallows down any remaining nerves, and arranges her face into what she hopes resembles a cocky smirk that oozes confidence and dignity and everything that she isn’t feeling right now.

The parade goes by in a blur. The deafening roar of the crowd that rises up on both sides, the wind whipping at their faces as the horses catapult them forward, it’s an assault to the senses that can only be processed once their chariot comes to a halt in front of the president’s podium.

Nicole grips the side of the chariot, hard, as the president speaks calmly into the microphone, welcoming the tributes to the Capitol as if they won’t be leaving in body bags. His snake-like eyes trace over each chariot and Nicole has the sensation of spiders crawling up her spine when his eyes finally settle on her.

She’s never been this close to the man who presides over Panem, who has held the position of president for as long as she can remember. His title is misleading, as there’s hardly anything democratic about this country or the man who runs it. A country built upon the broken backs of the many to support the luxurious lives of an undeserving few. Nicole has never known what it feels like to truly hate a person until she is looking up into the cold, merciless eyes of President Coriolanus Snow.

She can hardly focus on what the man is saying because her blood is boiling and all she can feel is white-hot anger coursing through her veins. She thinks of all the sleepless nights she spent sucking on mint leaves to ease the ever-present ache in her empty stomach, of the day she watched a fellow yard worker collapse to the ground out of sheer exhaustion, only to be hauled back on his feet by peacekeepers and ordered to keep on chopping.

When you grow up in the districts, it’s hard to know who exactly you’re angry with. The Capitol sure, but that’s some far-off place as mystical and removed as the castles found in children’s storybooks. You grow accustomed to the hunger, the abuse, because it’s all you’ve ever known. But now, standing here in the shadow of Capitol high-rises, having been fed indulgent Capitol meals, and listening to the words of the man responsible for the great injustice of it all, the pent up anger that’s been festering inside her for years finally threatens to spill over.

Two large screens frame the balcony that contains the president and his entourage, projecting his face for all the crowd to see. For a moment, though, the coverage shifts from the man with powdered white hair to pan across the tributes. Nicole’s eyes flicker up to one of the screens to find her own face staring back at her. She almost doesn’t recognize herself, with the generous layer of makeup and the indignation written clearly across her face. There is a steadiness to her gaze, a sharp line where her clenched jaw is set, and an inferno blazing in her eyes that transforms her. It doesn’t matter that she’s dressed as a piece of shrubbery, her expression says it all. It says I am angry and I am here to fight.

〜

The parade is over as soon as it started and Nicole finds herself being whisked off the chariot and ushered toward the elevators. Johanna slaps her on the back as they walk and asks her "where the hell that look came from".

Nicole doesn’t have a good answer but Johanna doesn’t need one.

“Well whatever it was, I hope you can do it again because I’ve already received eleven calls of people wanting to sponsor you.”

That stops Nicole right in her tracks. “Really?”

Her abrupt halt almost causes Robin to run into her and Nedley has to grab him by the elastic collar of his suit to keep him from stumbling to the ground.

“People love a fighter, Miss Haught,” The older man explains. “It doesn’t matter _who_ you’re ready to fight,” Nedley gives her a knowing look that lets Nicole know he understands what, or rather who, sparked her heated gaze, “If you can convince them that you’re a contender, they’ll open their wallets and start placing their bets.”

Nicole lets this information sink in. So now she’s a contender. After months of preparing herself for what she thought was her inevitable death, it’s strange to consider the fact that she could actually see District 7 again, that she could go home.

Nicole doesn’t allow herself to fantasize about returning home for long, there’s still twenty-three other tributes, one of whom being Robin, that have to die before she can step foot in her district again. Being a contender and becoming a victor are two vastly different things.

“Is there a restroom around here?” Nicole asks, the copious amount of bubbly water she was offered all evening finally catching up to her.

Johanna gives her an exasperated look but Nedley kindly points out a set of doors on the opposite end of the room and tells her to meet them at the elevators.

“You don’t have to escort me?” Nicole asks her mentor skeptically.

“Do I look like a babysitter?” Johanna quips and Nicole is taken aback by the sudden sense of freedom in her trip to the facilities.

As she walks across the concrete chamber, now only filled with half as many tributes and mentors, she realizes why she was allowed to take this trip alone. Around the perimeter stand enough peacekeepers to make up an entire unit. They’re posted by every entrance and exit and there’s even one stationed directly outside the bathroom.

Nicole nears her destination but slows as she passes two tributes in a heated conversation. It’s the District 2 tributes and the boy is talking loudly as he gets up close in the girl’s face. She watches as the girl wipes spit from her cheek but stands her ground, refusing to flinch as the boy shoves a thick finger at her chest.

Nicole’s not sure what compels her to do it. Perhaps she has a death wish after all, or an innate instinct to protect. Or maybe it’s the way the boy grabs onto the girl’s arm in the same way the strange men who used to visit her mother at night would when they’d had too much to drink. Whatever the reason, Nicole finds herself surging forward and thrusting her body between the two tributes, forcing the boy to release the girl’s arm and causing him to stumble backward in confusion.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The boy hollers, regaining his footing and coming to stand before Nicole instead. “You want me to kill you right now?”

Nicole is already starting to regret her reckless decision but it’s too late, she can’t show her fear now. “I think I’m keeping the Games fair.” She’s surprised by the calmness in her own voice. “There’s no fighting until we’re in the arena and you looked like you were about to break that rule.”

The boy scoffs and steps closer. “What are you, a peacekeeper? Maybe I should break your pretty nose instead and see how many sponsors you get.”

Nicole’s never been the violent type, but when she gets angry, it’s hard to control her impulses. She feels her hand twitch at her side and balls it into a fist. If someone’s nose is getting broken tonight, it sure as hell isn’t going to be hers.

Just as she’s about to raise her fist, a soft hand encases her own and she startles at the touch. The District 2 girl steps out from behind her and slips her body between Nicole and the boy, her right hand still resting lightly on Nicole’s balled fist.

“She’s right Champ,” The girl speaks. “If you hit her now, you won’t even make it to the Games.”

There’s only a sliver of space between Nicole’s body and the girl’s and she feels momentarily immobilized by their close proximity.

“Go cool off, there will be plenty of time to kill her in the arena.”

That snaps Nicole right out of her trance and she jerks her hand away from the girl’s. Nicole’s not sure what made her think a tribute from District 2 needed her protection. She’s a Career, someone who’s trained and chosen to enter the Games of her own free will. She’s here to kill people like Nicole, and she’ll probably enjoy doing it.

The boy heeds the girl’s advice and walks off to join their mentors by the chariots but now Nicole is backing away from the girl like she’s a coiled snake waiting to strike. Once the boy is out of earshot, the girl turns and smiles up at Nicole.

_She’s probably thinking of the best way to kill me_ , Nicole assumes, her stomach churning.

“Sorry about that, he can be a real dick sometimes.” The girl muses. She then notices Nicole’s retreat and her eyebrows crease with concern. “What’s wrong?”

The girl reaches for her again but Nicole twists to avoid contact. “Nothing,” She hurries out, eyes scanning for the elevators. “I should be going now, that’s all.”

She watches as the girl’s hand falls limply to her side and her face bears an expression that looks almost like disappointment. “Well thank you, for stepping in. That was… kind of you.”

The girl’s words swirl around in Nicole’s head and confuse her. Wasn’t she talking about killing Nicole only a few seconds prior? And now she’s thanking her and looking at her with those soft hazel eyes and it’s all too much for Nicole’s already jumbled brain.

“I was just keeping things fair,” Nicole reiterates and the girl’s eyes shift away from hers.

“Right,” She says, her gaze trained on glossy white boots, a heavy silence hanging in the air.

Nicole moves to leave, to escape this bizarre tension that exists between them, when she’s pulled back once more by the gentle lilt of the girl’s voice.

“At least let me know your name,” She implores, “So I don’t have to keep calling you Seven.”

“Nicole, Nicole Haught.”

The girl laughs at her answer and Nicole feels her cheeks flush. Then she scolds herself for even caring what this girl thinks of her.

“Is something funny?” She questions. She’s heard every joke about her last name over the years, and while she thought she was mature enough for it not to bother her anymore, something about the idea of this girl poking fun at her rubs her the wrong way.

The girl brings a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles. “No it’s just…” The girl’s eyes trace over Nicole’s face and glint in the fading sunlight, “fitting, that’s all.”

From the way she bits down on her lip bashfully and her own cheeks are tinted pink, Nicole has the sudden realization that the girl isn’t making fun of her. If they weren’t about to be thrown into an arena to kill one another, she might even think the girl was flirting with her.

The shorter girl steps forward and this time, Nicole doesn’t back away. She extends a hand cautiously and introduces herself. “I’m Waverly.”

Nicole surprises herself by returning the handshake and feels a warmth spread from the tips of her fingers through the rest of her body. “Waverly,” She repeats, enjoying the way the name falls from her lips like poetry. It sounds familiar, though she can’t quite place where she may have heard it before. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’d be a lot nicer if we didn’t have to meet here,” Waverly sighs and their hands still as their eyes meet.

They’re adversaries, competitors, destined to kill or be killed by the other, and yet neither one of them wants to break this spell, to be the first to let go.

In the end, it’s Nicole. She slips her hand out of the petite one’s hold and brings it back to rest at her side. It’s as if all the oxygen in the room comes rushing back in and the clamor around them can once again be heard.

“I really should be going.” Nicole can feel the impatient stare of her mentor prickling at her back, she’s already been gone far too long. “I guess I’ll uh, I’ll see you at training,” Nicole fumbles over her words and it’s not like her. She’s not usually so easy to rock but there’s something about this girl that throws her world off-kilter.

Waverly smiles and this time, Nicole doesn’t think it’s because she’s plotting her murder. Maybe it’s naïve of her to trust this girl she barely knows, but she can’t stop her heart from skipping a beat as the sweetest smile she’s ever seen graces Waverly’s lips.

“Goodnight, Nicole.” The sound of her name being spoken by the brunette is mesmerizing, and Nicole has to force herself to say goodbye to the girl before she becomes completely ensnared by those hazel eyes.

〜

The trip back to the tribute center passes in a blur. Nicole’s mind is elsewhere. The parade replays in her head like the reel of a movie, something she witnessed but was not apart of herself. The sheer rage she felt under the cold stare of the president scares her, because in that moment, she had truly wished him dead. If she were to be placed in an arena with the man, Nicole’s not sure she would hesitate to take his life. The thought terrifies her, rocks her to the core. Because perhaps, there is a part of her that is capable of killing after all. She prays she never has to meet that part.

What distracts her the most though, what tugs on her mind relentlessly and refuses to give her peace, are the thoughts of the District 2 girl. Of Waverly. To Nicole, she is an enigma. A girl of contradictions. She was somehow both delicate and strong, full of light and darkness. Being near her made Nicole feel every emotion under the sun. She was entranced and intimated, inexplicably drawn to the girl while every part of her brain told her to be wary of that sugary sweet smile.

The sun has completely disappeared from the sky once they reach the tribute center. The spacious apartment is quiet as the tributes and mentors return to their temporary home. The only other occupants are avoxes, forced into a life of silence for unknown crimes. They move about the apartment like ghosts, fetching dishes and tidying tables. Their presence is unsettling, an ever-present reminder of Capitol cruelty.

“I saw you made a friend tonight.”

Nicole spins to find her mentor propped on the armchair of a plump sofa, a full glass of red wine somehow already in her hand.

“What do you mean?” Nicole questions, attempting to conceal her new fixation on a certain tribute.

Johanna rolls her eyes. “The District 2 kids. The ones you were chatting up while you were meant to be using the restroom. Well the girl at least, seems you rather pissed off the boy tribute.”

Her mentor grimaces and Nicole doesn’t blame her, she may have just made herself a new enemy tonight and a strong one at that.

“He was hurting her.” The justification sounds weak even as Nicole says it.

Johanna sighs. “You do realize they’re your competition, right? All of them, the girl included. You can’t run around the arena defending every tribute who gets hurt, you’ll be dead before I can even send you a parachute.”

Of course she knows this, but Nicole won’t admit it. “I thought you wanted me to talk to the Careers,” She challenges, her arms crossing defensively over her chest.

“I said make nice with them, not pick a fight with one of them!”

Johanna collects herself for a moment before continuing. Her voice comes out less shrill than before. “Personally, I would’ve gone for the boy. He looks strong and has the potential to be the leader of the pack. But if you think the girl is an easier target, that’s fine. We can work with that.”

Nicole doesn’t like the way Johanna talks about Waverly as if she’s merely a means to an end. A mark in the elaborate heist that is meant to be Nicole’s victory. But she knows better than to voice those thoughts out loud.

“I think I can gain her trust.”

It feels like she’s playing with fire. Agreeing to pursue an alliance with the girl who refuses to leave her thoughts and whose simple touch sent electricity through her veins.

Johanna contemplates this new development in the strategy as she takes slow, languid sips of her wine.

“Okay then, it’s settled. Tomorrow at training, you find her and befriend her. Make sure to show her you can be useful, chop some firewood or something. And for the love of God,” Johanna trains her eyes on the ceiling before redirecting them at Nicole, “Do not piss off any more Careers.”

“I won’t,” Nicole assures, though she’s not entirely confident that's a promise she can keep.


	4. Chapter 4

The contrast between the red hue of her blood and the fairness of her skin is so stark, it’s memorizing.

Nicole watches as the small dot grows, amazed that such a thin piece of wire could cause this much blood to run down her thumb. Her eyes settle on the wire in question and she glares at it, _stupid trap._

She wipes the blood on her pants and picks up the tangled mess of wires before tossing them to the side. “This is impossible,” She mutters.

“It’s not that hard if you actually pay attention.”

Nicole turns to look at her fellow tribute who has somehow constructed a perfect replica of the squirrel trap displayed on the screen before them.

“Robin, how did you do that?”

“I, uh, followed the directions,” Robin explains, but his words fall on deaf ears as Nicole has already turned her gaze back to the sparring mat where a petite girl has been delivering a beating to a practice mannequin for the past twenty minutes. She fights with a set of short, identical poles. There are no blades or pointed tips, but she yields her simple weapons with a grace and expertise that makes them appear as deadly as the knives the District 1 girl is hurtling at a nearby target.

The younger boy lets out a sigh. “Just go, I know you want to talk to her.”

Nicole whips her head back around and feigns innocence. “Talk to who?”

“The girl from Two, you’ve been watching her this whole time, it’s starting to get creepy.”

Nicole’s cheeks grow hot at being called out. “I’m not watching her, I’m… studying her. So I can… you know figure out the best way to approach her. Johanna wants me to-”

Robin interrupts her rambling. “I know I know, it’s part of your big plan to take out the Careers. But Nic, we’ve been in training all day and you haven’t said a word to any of them.”

“Well we’ve been learning about plants, and making traps,” Nicole protests.

“You mean _I’ve_ been making traps, you made a wire bird's nest.”

Nicole grimaces as she looks down at her failed attempt at a trap.

“Listen, if you’re worried about leaving me, don’t be.” Robin gives Nicole a smile and holds up his coil wire, “I’m good here, I like building things, it makes me happy.”

“Are you sure?” Nicole questions, hesitant to leave Robin alone. They may not be in the arena yet, but the training center still feels dangerous. Nicole swears she saw the boy from Two, Waverly had called him Champ, give her a nasty look on the way in. While there are peacekeepers posted around the room, she has little faith they’d step in if a fight broke out among the tributes.

“I’m sure, now go kiss up to the Career girl.”

Nicole gives Robin a startled look. “What? No! I’m just trying to impress her so I can get into the pack.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Robin appears unbothered by Nicole’s distress and continues working with his wire. He then looks up and laughs, “It’s an expression, Nic. I didn’t mean actually kiss her, that’d be weird.”

“Right,” Nicole lets out a forced laugh and stands up from their work station. “I’ll see you at the end of training then, don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

Robin gives Nicole a knowing look, “I think I should be the one telling you that.”

Nicole chooses to ignore this comment and starts making her way from survival skills to the weapons training section of the tribute center.

Waverly has just knocked the rubber dummy to the ground with a particularly powerful hit to its side when Nicole reaches the mat.

“You’re pretty good with those,” She observes.

The girl before her startles at the sound of Nicole’s voice and swings around so fast, she nearly takes Nicole’s head off with one of her fighting rods. The taller girl ducks just in time to avoid decapitation and Waverly lets out a surprised squeak when she realizes how close she came to assaulting the other girl.

Nicole raises her hands in surrender. “Whoa there, I’m not trying to fight you.”

“I’m so sorry,” The smaller girl rushes out, abandoning her weapons on the mat and stepping closer to Nicole. “You surprised me. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Waverly’s eyes flit over Nicole’s form, searching for damage. Nicole is taken aback by her concern.

“It's okay, I’m fine,” She assures the brunette.

Waverly’s face is still etched with worry so Nicole cracks a smile. “Why don’t you make it up to me by teaching me how to use those things?” She points to the slender rods that now lay disposed on the floor.

The other girl is hesitant. Nicole can see the conflict in her eyes and she doesn’t blame her. It’s a strange request, asking another tribute to teach her how to use a weapon, a weapon she could very well use against her in the arena. Just when Nicole thinks Waverly is going to tell her she’s delusional and to get lost, the shorter girl smiles and picks up the sticks, handing one to Nicole.

“Okay Seven, it’s a deal. Show me what you’ve got.”

Waverly takes a step back and raises her stick before her chest, bending her knees slightly and looking at Nicole expectantly. She has the sudden realization that Waverly’s waiting for her to strike.

“That’s not my name,” Nicole comments, weirdly offended that the other girl has already forgotten her name from the other night.

Waverly smiles and twirls her stick in front of her, taunting Nicole. “I know.”

Nicole lunges forward and swipes at the shorter girl’s torso but Waverly jumps back before she can make contact.

“Try again, the pole is light, use that,” Waverly instructs. Nicole watches as she tosses her own rod from one hand to the next like it’s weightless, like she’s been doing this all her life.

Nicole steps forward again and acts like she’s going for Waverly’s left arm, but just as the other girl moves to block her she arcs the rod in the air and comes down on the opposite side.

Nicole gasps as she feels the impact of her pole on the smaller girl’s bicep and knows it’s sure to leave a bruise. She’s about to apologize as she sees the pretty face before her twist with pain but then Waverly’s expression is morphing into a grin.

“That was great,” She praises, “Now let’s try blocking.”

The brunette’s approval is something Nicole didn’t know she wanted until she got it. There’s something about the way she’s looking at her now, her eyes challenging but excited. There’s a respect in that gaze, an acknowledgment that they are opposites but equals. It wakes up every cell in Nicole’s body, makes her feel so very alive.

“Aren’t I supposed to get two of these?” Nicole questions as she prepares herself to block whatever Waverly throws her way.

“Baby steps, Seven, baby steps.”

Nicole narrows her eyes at the unwanted nickname and Waverly gives an airy laugh that lets her know she’s avoiding her name on purpose, that she gets some sort of amusement out of Nicole’s frustration.

Suddenly there’s a pole coming towards her and Nicole’s movements aren’t fast enough to block the strike. Waverly’s stick collides with her side and she doubles over, momentarily immobilized by the shock.

“Oops, sorry! Too much force,” Waverly squeaks out.

“Jesus, Waverly…” Nicole’s eyes trace over the slender girl before her, baffled that someone so small could deliver such a blow. The clear definition in her arms answers Nicole’s question. The girl has probably been training since she was a kid, her muscles perfectly toned for optimal fighting. Her strength is so different from Nicole’s. She is refined, agile, while Nicole relies on rugged, brute strength born out of years in the yard. They are so vastly different, and yet Nicole can’t shake the feeling that there’s some invisible string tethering them together, drawing them towards one another.

Her thoughts are halted by the feeling of gentle fingers wrapping around her wrist.

“Here,” Waverly speaks softly as she guides Nicole’s arm. “Hold it like this, so you can move it quickly to match your opponent.” She demonstrates by slowly pivoting Nicole’s wrist to block imaginary attacks.

They’re close enough that Nicole can see the swirl of green and brown that fills Waverly’s irises and the small wisps of hair that didn’t make it into her double braids.

Waverly’s hand slips off her wrist and the loss of contact jolts Nicole out of her trance.

“Got it?” The brunette asks, looking up at Nicole through thick lashes.

She does her best to steady her voice before answering, not wanting the Career before her to know just how strong of an effect she has on her. “Got it.”

It takes three more attempts, but eventually Nicole is blocking every attack Waverly delivers. Her confidence grows with each successful counter move and she begins to throw in her own offensive strikes which Waverly expertly blocks. Sweat runs down Nicole’s back from the exertion, but she’s too focused on the girl before her, on tracking her movements and her gaze, attempting to predict what she’ll do next, to register the growing ache in her tired muscles. She remains oblivious to the small audience they’ve acquired as the two dance about the mat, sticks clashing with mounting intensity.

Waverly’s eyes dart downwards for a split second and Nicole prepares herself for a strike to the legs. When it comes, she sidesteps and uses the opportunity to administer a blow to Waverly’s side. Just as she’s closing in on the other girl’s abdomen, she slows her speed so all her pole does is gently tap Waverly’s waist.

Waverly looks up at her, half amused, half perplexed. “You think you’re so good now, you have to go easy on me?” She asks, challenge in her voice.

“Maybe,” Nicole taunts back, though she knows it’s a lie. She can’t stand the idea of seeing the other girl’s face in pain again, especially if she’s the one inflicting the pain.

“Well don’t,” Waverly’s voice lowers and her eyes flicker to the ring of tributes surrounding the mat, watching the spar with curiosity. “Because I’m not.”

Nicole notices the onlookers for the first time and her gaze settles on a huddle of particularly well-fed tributes at the far end, the Career pack. They whisper to one another and watch the two with hungry eyes as if waiting for some bloodshed.

She doesn’t get a chance to contemplate Waverly’s sudden change in demeanor before a pole comes crashing into her left knee, knocking her to the ground.

Nicole cries out and looks up at Waverly with startled eyes. This time, there’s no gasp, no hurried apology for causing the redhead pain. For a moment, Nicole thinks she sees remorse flicker across hazel eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came.

A male voice calls out from the sidelines, “Get her, Waves,” and Nicole watches as Waverly prepares for another strike.

_Ok so this is how it’s going to be._

Just as Waverly’s stick is descending upon her, Nicole whips up her own weapon and the two collide with a loud clang. She forces herself to her feet, her knee still throbbing, and pushes back on the other girl’s pole until she twists it out of the brunette’s grip and it clatters to the ground.

Waverly stares, dumbstruck, at her discarded weapon, and Nicole uses the momentary distraction to swipe at her legs. But Waverly is quick and more observant than Nicole initially gave her credit for, and she dodges Nicole’s attack effortlessly. Nicole presses forward, but with each arc of her pole, Waverly nimbly avoids collision, stepping backward with every advance. To be quite honest, Nicole isn’t giving it her all. Waverly is weaponless. It feels unfair at this point to continue fighting, but the brunette still has fire in her eyes and doesn’t seem close to surrendering anytime soon.

As they near the end of the mat, Nicole has a new idea. She eyes the approaching wall and figures she can render the other girl incapable of continuing the fight without having to actually harm her if she can only get them to that wall.

Waverly must realize the unfortunate situation she’s backed herself into because she reaches up and grabs Nicole’s stick moments before her back hits the wall. The shorter girl attempts to wrestle the weapon out of Nicole’s grasp and delivers a swift knee to her gut that makes Nicole gasp for air and almost lose her hold on the pole.

 _That’s it,_ Nicole decides, _I’m done playing nice._

With all of the strength left in her, Nicole surges forward and slams Waverly’s back into the padded wall behind them. Both their hands remain latched onto the cylindrical rod but Nicole presses it forward so that it comes to rest below Waverly’s chin. She doesn’t press hard enough to suffocate the other girl, but just enough that she remains trapped. At least that’s what Nicole thinks.

Suddenly Waverly’s eyes are welling up with tears and she’s gasping for air. “Nicole,” She speaks her name at last, in a voice so fragile, it cuts through Nicole like a knife. “Please.”

Nicole immediately releases her hold on the rod and steps back, her stomach twisting itself into knots at the thought of what she just did.

“Waverly, I-” Her apology is cut short by a sudden impact to her legs that knocks her feet out from under her. Nicole goes tumbling to the ground and lands flat on her back. She attempts to process what just happened as she struggles to regain her breath and adjust her eyes to the blinding fluorescent lights.

A figure moves above her, momentarily blocking out the harsh light. Her eyes focus and reveal Waverly’s silhouette towering over her, stick pointing down at Nicole’s chest and a foot resting lightly on her hipbone. She can hear the laughter of the Careers off to her right and feels her face grow hot at the clear display of weakness that just occurred for the rest of the tributes to see.

Waverly played her, Nicole realizes. She could breathe perfectly fine. Nicole knew she hadn't applied enough force to hurt Waverly, let alone cut off her airway, yet the moment she saw those hazel eyes brimming with tears and heard her name spoken so desperately by the other girl, she had lost all her wits and given into the charade.

What bothers her more than the public embarrassment, is the knowledge that somehow, Waverly has already tuned into Nicole’s weak spot. Nicole has always had a near instinctual need to protect those in need, to defend the defenseless. Waverly is by no means helpless, but for some reason, Nicole keeps trying to save her, even from herself. _She knows I can’t hurt her._

Nicole has landed herself in a compromising position. To the other tributes, she looks weak. The Careers are laughing at her at this very moment. And then there’s Waverly, who must now think she has Nicole wrapped around her finger, that all she needs is a few well-timed tears and a plea for help and Nicole will drop her weapon and surrender. She needs to salvage what she can of the situation, so when Waverly removes her foot from her pelvis, Nicole props herself up on her elbow and extends her hand toward the brunette.

“Good job,” She concedes, “You got me.”

Waverly considers the outstretched hand for a moment, initially wary, but Nicole smiles up at her ruefully, urging her to show good sportsmanship and help her battered body off the ground.

At last, Waverly grasps her hand. Nicole takes a moment to enjoy the way the smaller girl’s hand fits so well in her own, then gives a sudden tug that sends Waverly’s body plummeting on top of her.

The brunette yelps in surprise and Nicole quickly rolls to the side, flipping Waverly onto the mat and pinning her arms above her head. She is met with wide eyes and parted lips, an expression of utter shock.

They’re both out of breath and close enough that Nicole can feel the rise and fall of Waverly’s chest. She watches as Waverly’s eyebrows scrunch together and she smiles.

“You told me not to go easy on you.”

This only causes Waverly’s scowl to intensify. The glare is so non-threatening, Nicole can't help but laugh. She leans down close so that only the brunette can hear what she says next.

“I know you think that’s intimidating, but it’s actually really cute.” She hopes the other tributes will assume she’s whispering threats in Waverly’s ear, not something that almost resembles a compliment.

Waverly lets out an indignant huff but the moment her gaze connects with Nicole’s, all traces of anger leave her face and are replaced by a different, more puzzling expression. Nicole’s not quite sure what’s running through the other girl’s head at the moment, but she can feel Waverly's body relax under her own and her eyes fill with a different sort of inferno.

The sound of slow clapping draws them out of their bubble and Nicole quickly moves off of Waverly, knowing she already stayed in that position far too long. As she stands, she offers her hand to the brunette but Waverly gives her a look that says, _do you think I’m stupid_ , and pushes herself off the ground.

At the edge of the crowd, stands a man in a suit, his dark hair gelled back and his beard shaven in such a way that strange patterns dance across his jaw. Nicole recognizes him instantly. Seneca Crane, Head Gamemaker, is staring straight at her. Despite his applauding hands, he does not look happy.

The other tributes remain silent as the Gamemaker makes his way towards the center of the mat and Nicole swallows down a lump in her throat. He smiles, an eerie sort of smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and at last stills his hands.

“Well that was quite the show ladies,” Seneca’s voice is surprisingly soft, but the quietness is unnerving. “What a shame, that it happened here instead of in the arena. You know,” He places his hands in the pockets of his coat and looks upon the two girls as if he is a disappointed father administering a reprimand, “traditionally, it’s against the rules for tributes to fight before the Games.”

Nicole tells herself there’s no reason to be afraid, she’s already been given a death sentence, there’s not much worse the Capitol can do to her. But there’s a sick feeling churning in her stomach and she can’t help but let her eyes dart over to Waverly to gauge her reaction. The brunette doesn’t meet her gaze but stares straight ahead, her expression unreadable.

“At first, I came over here to admonish you,” Seneca continues, “but really I should be thanking you girls.”

The Gamemaker’s gratitude is more frightening than his disapproval.

“You’ve given me a wonderful idea.” Seneca spreads his hands and smiles as if the tributes will be delighted with what he’s about to say next. “Starting with the 73rd Hunger Games, tribute training will now include a round of sparring.”

Whispers break out among the tributes. Nicole scans the perimeter to find Robin, whose eyes have gone wide. Whether at Nicole’s reckless fighting or the new addition to training, she can’t be sure.

"On the last day of training, each tribute will be paired with another and they will spar right here,” He sweeps his arms across the mat. “Your performance will be factored into your training score. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

Nearly every tribute wears a stricken expression. They don’t want to have to fight each other in the arena, let alone in training. Nicole watches as the tributes from twelve whisper nervously to one another, their thin frames so malnourished, they look on the verge of crumbling. This will only hurt them, their training scores and their already feeble bodies. Nicole can’t help but feel partially responsible.

The only tributes matching the Gamemaker’s excitement are the Careers. Champ and the male twin from Four are laughing boisterously as they pretend to fight one another, putting each other in headlocks and acting like a pair of rowdy schoolboys. The girls are more poised, though as they conspire quietly each wears a wicked grin that conveys their obvious pleasure at the new arrangements. Lastly, the boy from One, with his curly hair and elfish features, has an expression of calm serenity. He traces his eyes slowly across the room, landing briefly on each frightened tribute, and twirls a small pocket knife between nimble fingers. Where he got the knife, and how he’s managed to avoid getting it confiscated, is a mystery to Nicole. There’s something about his empty gaze, the clinical way in which he assesses the others, that gives Nicole the sensation of ice water washing over her. She has a feeling the boy is capable of things she couldn’t even imagine.

“Now I must remind you all,” The Gamemaker resumes his speech, “these are only spars, which means attempts to kill are prohibited and maiming is… _strongly discouraged._ ” His eyes settle on the Careers and he gives them a pointed look. The District 4 girl pouts like a child who has just been told they can’t have dessert before dinner.

Seneca claps his hands together and turns to face the rest of the tributes. “Well that concludes training for today. We will resume tomorrow at 10 a.m., and I suggest you spend some time in weapons training if you haven’t yet. Believe me when I say it is in your best interest _not_ to lose your spar.”

The vast training center is filled with silence as the tributes all process this new information. No one makes a move to leave.

“Oh come on now, this is going to be fun!” Seneca turns back to the girls on the mat and looks Nicole dead in the eye. “And you can thank these two for making it happen.”

A heavy pit forms on Nicole’s stomach as the tributes begin to shuffle out of the training center, several casting dirty looks their way. Nicole turns to the girl beside her, searching for some semblance of reassurance that they haven’t completely screwed up.

“Everyone’s looking at us, you know.”

Waverly’s head turns to face her for the first time since Seneca’s announcement and Nicole is taken aback by the harsh look on her face.

“There is no us.” She speaks quickly and Nicole is shocked by how much her words sting.

“Oh I didn’t mean-”

The shorter girl cuts her off. “Look I don’t know what you think is going on here,” She gestures between them, “but we’re not friends. Especially after what you pulled out there.” Waverly glances over at the spot where Nicole tricked her into helping her up only to pin her down on the mat.

Nicole feels her head cloud with anger. “What I pulled?” Her voice is too loud, others might overhear, but she’s too heated to care. “What about your little performance? That was bullshit. You and I both know you could breathe just fine.”

Waverly averts her gaze for half a second, looks almost ashamed, but then they can hear the rest of the Careers approaching and her face turns stoic again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nicole is completely, and utterly confused by the girl before her. One minute she’s rushing to see if Nicole’s okay, and the next she’s fighting dirty and acting like Nicole’s the one who wronged her. Nicole's aching knee and the bruises that are sure to be forming across her body tell a different story.

The Career pack reaches them and Nicole tries to wipe the hurt and confusion from her face. Champ slings an arm over Waverly’s shoulder and roughly pulls her into his side. “Don’t worry sweet cheeks," He growls, "if I get paired with her, I’ll make sure she enters the Games on crutches.”

The boy gives her a crooked smile and Waverly keeps her eyes trained on anything but Nicole. As the pack makes their way to the elevator, Nicole has the sudden urge to throw up.

Robin finds her and does his best to assure her everything will be fine as they journey up to the seventh floor, but Nicole knows better.

The only people who will benefit from this new arrangement are the Careers and any tributes who are naturally strong and have some experience fighting. That puts the majority of the tributes at an extreme disadvantage. Not only will their training scores take a hit, but some could enter the games physically handicapped from an unevenly matched fight. The other tributes are bound to be angry, and they were told exactly who to blame for their misfortune.

Seneca Crane just placed a target on her head.


	5. Chapter 5

The second day of training begins much like the first. The tributes file into the expansive, chamber-like room, pairing off by district and picking a station to start at. As the Games grow closer, the feeling of dread thickens and permeates the air.

The hours drag on, Nicole and Robin moving from one station to the next. Robin tries to make light conversation and Nicole gives merger responses, pouring her attention into the tasks before her. She perfects her fire starting technique and learns the best way to spear a fish, all while doing her best to ignore the prickling at the back of her neck that lets her know she’s being watched.

She felt it first upon entering the training center that morning and had made the mistake of turning to find its source. Her eyes had met hazel for half a second before Waverly jerked her head away. Shaken by the brunette’s gaze, Nicole had stared dumbstruck at the back of her braids for a moment too long. Champ, who was standing at Waverly’s side, caught her eye and gave her a wicked grin. She had remained rooted to the spot as the boy pointed at her, dragged his finger slowly across his neck, and then let his head loll to the side as if it had been severed. The motion sent a shiver down her spine and she had ushered Robin to the other side of the room to escape the boy’s leering gaze.

Since then she was determined not to turn around whenever she got the sense that another’s eyes were upon her. She wasn’t going to give the Careers the satisfaction of knowing they had gotten under her skin.

“So I take it you’re not trying to join the pack anymore?” Robin asks cautiously as he fashions a perfect tourniquet out of a tree branch.

“They’re snakes, all of them,” Nicole retorts. “We’ll be better off on our own.”

The boy beside her looks up and smiles. “Is it wrong of me to say I’m relieved? I’d really rather not die alone.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Nicole assures him, “We’ll look out for each other. No more Careers, no allies, just you and me. You’re not dying alone, okay? Not on my watch.”

Robin nods, “Okay.”

It takes Nicole twice as long as Robin but eventually, she creates a half-way decent tourniquet. She scans the room for a new station to move to, perhaps knot tying or shelter building, but Robin has other ideas.

“We should go to weapons training.”

Nicole scoffs, “Yeah no, we’re not going there.” She lets her gaze fall on the other end of the training center where the Careers have been hacking away at dummies and swinging swords all day. They’ve claimed the entire station, preventing any of the other tributes from trying their hands at a weapon before the spars tomorrow. She spots Waverly at the far end of the mat, firing arrows at a target. She doesn’t miss once.

“Come on Nic,” Robin pleads. “Knowing how to make a squirrel trap isn’t going to be much help when someone comes at me with a knife. I need to learn how to fight.”

She hates that he’s right. No matter how hard she tries to protect him in the arena, there’s bound to be a time he’ll need to defend himself. And given his record on the schoolyard, the odds of him winning his spar tomorrow are most definitely not in his favor.

Nicole sucks in a deep breath and rises from her seat. “You’re right, you need practice with weapons, we all do. They can’t just monopolize the weapons station all day.”

As she begins marching across the room, Robin scampers after her. “You’re not going to fight one of them again, are you? Because Johanna said…”

“I don’t give a damn what Johanna said,” Nicole hisses. “But no, I’m not going to fight anyone. We’re just going to take our turn at the station. It’ll be fine.”

As the words come out of her mouth her heart rate picks up. She’s not sure if it’s because she lied about everything being fine, or if it’s because at that same moment, Waverly lowers her bow and turns to watch Nicole’s approach with quiet interest.

By the time Nicole’s shoe lands on the foam mat, all of the Careers have paused their practice to stare at the intruders.

“Ignore them,” Nicole mutters, and heads for a rack of weapons in the center of the mat.

Robin gasps at the array of shining metal and sleek wood. He ghosts his fingers over a long sword with a golden hilt.

“Try it,” Nicole suggests, seeing the way the boy’s eyes light up at the medieval weapon.

Tentatively, Robin removes the sword from the rack and sags under its weight. Once he’s adjusted to the heavy metal, he walks over to a nearby dummy and takes a swing. The aftershock of the hit causes Robin to stumble backward but there’s a wide grin on his face as he turns to face Nicole.

She can’t help but smile at the boy before her. After years of reading about brave knights and dragon-fighting heroes from times gone past, Robin gets to live out his fantasies if only for a moment.

Nicole turns back to the cart and spots a row of axes, all varying in length and thickness. She plucks one from the middle and steps in front of a target. The only sound is the quiet thumping of Robin’s sword on the practice mannequin, letting her know that she has the Careers’ undivided attention.

She thinks of the events of yesterday, how they laughed when she was knocked on her back. The way Waverly tricked her and made her look like a fool. Her lungs fill as she takes a steadying breath.

The axe is lighter than her father’s, the handle made of polished wood that feels slick in her palm. She mentally adjusts for the differences, then pulls her arm back, and lets the axe fly.

When the blade connects with the bullseye, Nicole can’t help the feeling of pride that swells in her and the smile that graces her lips at her success. Her head turns of its own volition to land on the brunette three targets down and she’s met with an indistinguishable look.

Her eyebrows are slightly raised, an indication that she’s impressed, but the rest of her face remains stoic. They lock eyes for a moment too long before Nicole shifts her gaze away from the District 2 tribute and over towards Robin.

Nicole’s not sure she has ever seen Robin look the way he does now. The scared boy who was hauled into her kitchen years ago is so different from the one who stands before her now, holding a sword like he’s done it all his life. The blade gives him confidence, makes him stand that much taller, and ignites a blaze in eyes that were once cloudy. The confidence suits him, Nicole thinks, and she’s saddened by the thought that she’ll never get to meet the man Robin would have one day become.

“It’d be a shame if that sword ended up down his throat,” A chilling voice whispers behind her.

Nicole spins, her fists already clenching tight, to find the devilish smirk of the District 1 boy. He somehow manages to look down on her despite being an inch shorter, and his pale blue eyes resemble those of a porcelain doll. Porcelain dolls always gave Nicole the creeps.

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Nicole warns, refusing to flinch under the boy’s cold stare.

His lips quirk up into a grin. “Is that your little boyfriend?”

Nicole recoils, disturbed by the implication. “What, no.”

The Career laughs at her obvious discomfort and presses forward. “My bad, he looks way too queer anyways.”

Nicole snaps. She surges forward and her hands connect with the boy’s chest, sending him stumbling into the weapons cart. A loud crash echoes across the room and the girl from Four audibly gasps and rushes to the boy’s side.

“Midas, are you okay?” The other Career asks, her sun-kissed face laced with concern.

He shrugs off her hands and pushes himself into a standing position. His expression is eerily calm and his eyes seem to stare straight through Nicole.

“You’re going to regret that, Red.”

Nicole should feel scared, but all she feels is white-hot anger coursing through her veins. She takes a step in Midas’ direction, her right arm winding up for a swing, when suddenly it’s trapped between two hands.

“Nic,” Robin’s gentle voice whispers, “It’s time to walk away.”

She meets Robin’s eyes, which nervously flicker up towards the Gamemakers’ viewing box. Seneca stands at the edge of the balcony, his face displeased and his gaze landing on Nicole. She hates the idea of letting this man have power over her, but once she steps into the arena, her life is quite literally in his hands.

What causes her to at last lower her fist and step away from the sneering Career is not the sight of the disapproving Gamemaker, but the slightest shake of Waverly’s head from across the mat. The action should further enrage Nicole, but there is something about the look in her eyes, so similar to the one she wore in the reaping tapes, that makes Nicole heed her silent advice and retreat to a less hostile section of the training center.

Much to Nicole’s disappointment, the other tributes have dispersed during their time with the Careers, leaving no empty stations. They settle on learning about water filtration and slide into two empty seats next to a boy of slight stature, hunched over a filtration device.

It appears as though the boy is taking apart the filter, which seems counterproductive to Nicole, but she doesn’t pay him much mind and busies herself with the task before her, attempting to cool down from their previous encounter.

Robin doesn’t share Nicole’s disinterest with their companion and proceeds to chat amicably with the boy beside him. Nicole is only half listening to the conversation, but she learns the boy is from District 3 and has a strange passion for atoms. She does her best to tune out the chatter beside her until something the boy says catches her attention.

“What did you say, about the power in the tribute center?”

The boy looks surprised at hearing the redhead speak but hurries to answer regardless. “It’s all connected to a set of generators at the base of the building. You can tell because of the way…”

The boy speaks so fast Nicole can hardly keep up. She lifts her hand to stop his description of circuits and asks the question that she really wants an answer to.

“So would it be possible to cut the power in the tribute center? Turn off the cameras and the lights, unlock the doors, all at once?”

Robin whips his head around to see if any peacekeepers are nearby and has a distressed look on his face. “Nicole,” He warns, “If you’re suggesting what I think you are... that’s crazy.”

Nicole ignores Robin’s concerns and leans across the table, speaking directly to the District 3 boy. “Do _you_ think it’s crazy?”

He thinks, for a moment, before responding, running a hand through his thick, wavy hair. The action causes his dark brown locks to appear disheveled, giving Nicole the impression that she's talking to a fifteen-year-old mad scientist.

“Do I think it’s possible to shut down the power in the tribute center? Yes. Do I think you, specifically, will be able to sneak out of your heavily guarded room, down to the also heavily guarded generator room, and successfully turn off the power without getting killed? No.”

Nicole’s shoulders sag and she slumps back into her seat. She’s not sure why she let herself believe, if only for a moment, that there was a chance of escaping the Games.

The boy’s voice interrupts her thoughts. “You know what is possible?” He jokingly suggests. “Shutting down the power in this room. All of the lights are wired up to that one box up in the rafters.”

Nicole follows the boy’s finger to see a small silver box at the top of the ceiling.

“But what good would that do?” The boy laughs and Robin joins in, though his laugh is more strained.

Nicole figures he’s still worried she’ll go on a suicide mission to shut down the tribute center and orchestrate their escape. She’s not that crazy though, not quite.

〜

Evening falls and Nicole and Robin are ushered back to the seventh floor of the tribute center. Dinner is a tense affair as the mentors have somehow already found out about Nicole’s altercation with the boy from One.

“I just don’t understand the logic here,” Nicole complains after getting told off for shoving the Career. “We’re all going to kill each other in three days but I’m supposed to be nice and make friends during training?”

“Yes!” Johanna retorts, exasperated. “That is exactly what you were supposed to do. We had a plan, Nicole. But it seems you’ve forgotten about that.”

Nicole slides down in her seat and swirls her fork in a pile of mashed potatoes, making shapes with the gravy and starch.

“Well I’ve changed my mind,” She announces, not looking up from her potatoes. “I don’t trust the Careers and I’d rather it just be me and Robin in the arena.”

Nedley nods his head in understanding and Johanna takes a hearty sip of wine. She won’t say it aloud, but Nicole knows Johanna expects Robin to die in the bloodbath.

“Is there anyone else, besides the Careers, that you’d want to have as an ally?” Nedley questions.

Nicole opens her mouth to say no but Robin speaks before her.

“Jeremy.”

Nicole looks at Robin with a baffled expression. “Who?”

“Jeremey,” He repeats, “We met him today in training, he’s from District 3 and he’s really smart. I think he would be a good-”

“No.” Nicole gives up on her potatoes, letting her fork fall, and sits up straighter. “We don’t need any allies, okay? We’ll be better off just the two of us.”

She does her best to ignore the disappointed look on Robin’s face at her rejection. She tells herself that she’s only looking out for him. There’s no point getting attached to any of the other tributes when they’ll either end up dead or stabbing them in the back. That was made clear to her yesterday.

“Fair enough,” Nedley concludes, brushing the crumbs from his beard with a silk napkin. The dainty fabric looks out of place in his calloused hands. “Do you have any new ideas for a strategy? I would recommend heading for the trees as soon as possible.”

Potential strategies have been keeping Nicole up at night, but every time she tries to come up with a plan, she feels like she’s plotting the other tributes’ murder and becomes too nauseous to continue.

“We could wait it out in the trees,” She suggests. “Pick fruit, climb down for water, and try to avoid the fighting.”

Johanna scoffs. “So you pick fights in training but once you’re in the Games you’re a pacifist?”

“That’s different. In training I was defending Robin, that asshole _threatened_ him.” Nicole can hear her own voice rising and wonders if she’s trying to convince Johanna of her moral innocence or herself.

The mentor looks as if she’s about to continue arguing with Nicole when Nedley meets her gaze and she begrudgingly closes her mouth. From observing the pair over the past few days, Nicole has come to the conclusion that Nedley is one of the only people Johanna actually respects, and therefore one of the few people she’ll listen to.

“I think that’s a perfectly reasonable strategy,” Nedley affirms. “Though I must warn you, Miss Haught, no matter how hard you try to hide from the violence, the violence will find you, and you must be prepared for that. You must be prepared to face who you are in your darkest hour.”

A hush falls over the table and Robin suddenly loses interest in the rolls he was shoveling down moments before. Nicole studies the elder mentor carefully –the way his face is creased with sadness and the slightest hint of tears pool in his eyes. She wonders what sort of horrors he faced in his Games, and what horrors he’s had to watch his tributes face year after year.

Nedley quickly collects himself and shifts the conversation to the next day’s spars. They will only be allowed non-lethal weapons and will receive their pairings just before the spar. Nicole actually listens to the advice she receives and asks questions about how to best take down a stronger opponent. She has a feeling Seneca Crane is not going to arrange an easy fight for her and prepares herself to have to face someone like Champ or the boy from Four.

〜

The morning arrives far too quickly after another sleepless night. Nicole can sense Robin’s trepidation in the elevator and focuses on calming his nerves while shoving her own down.

The training center has been transformed since yesterday –the stations removed and the mats from weapons training pulled into the center. She watches as the gamemakers enjoy a hearty breakfast spread and mingle in their box, pointing at the tributes assembling around the mat and likely placing bets on who will walk away with a black eye or a broken bone.

After the rules are once again explained by Seneca, who stands in the center of the floor flanked by two peacekeepers, the first pairing is announced and the sparring begins. Nicole is surprised by how evenly matched the first few spars are. The girl from Four battles it out with the boy from Ten. She flips him onto his back but only after he lands a strike to her jaw that is likely to leave a bruise for tomorrow's interviews. The tributes from Twelve are paired with ones from Eight or Nine. Their spars end soon after they begin. Sage, the District 11 girl, is assigned to fight Champ. Nicole so badly wants to watch her knock him out, and she comes close, but in the end, it’s Champ who disarms her and claims victory.

At last, Nicole hears her name being called and steps into the center of the mat. She scans her eyes over the remaining tributes and attempts to predict who her partner will be. Judging by the glint in Seneca’s eyes, she assumes she’ll be facing a Career. Part of her wants it to be Waverly, the other part prays it’s anyone but her.

The name of her partner is called and it’s not one she recognizes. Baffled, she stands in the center of the floor, waiting for the other tribute to step forward.

Nicole’s heart drops into her stomach the moment her opponent steps onto the mat, his eyes downcast and his hands visibly shaking.

They’ve paired her with the boy from District 11. He is half her size and no older than twelve. She cannot fathom why they would assign her to this spar, but she knows one thing for sure. This is not a fair fight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who have stuck with this story over the past few months and to those who have just found it, thank you for reading! I would like to especially thank anyone who has left a comment on a chapter, I love hearing your thoughts and appreciate all of the kind words that have been left :)
> 
> I am finally on a break from university and able to get back into writing, so I am hoping for more frequent updates on this story (as well as others)!
> 
> Some Disclaimers:  
> While this is a wayhaught fic, it is also a story about Nicole and her journey through the Games. Therefore, the romance between Nicole and Waverly is going to take some time to fully develop and I have updated the tags to reflect this.
> 
> This fic has a Mature rating. I would like to clarify that this is for language, violence, and darker themes that are associated with the Hunger Games universe. Beyond that, there will be no explicit content in this story.


	6. Chapter 6

Nicole’s mind is racing and her feet remain rooted in place. Of all the possibilities she had considered for her spar today, fighting a twelve-year-old was not one of them. She had been so sure she would be pitted against a powerhouse, set up to lose. Instead, victory has been handed to her on a platter. It doesn't feel right.

She watches as the boy before her grabs a baton from the small array of weapons beside him. He raises it in a defensive position but his hands still shake and the baton wobbles in the air.

His fear is palpable.

Nicole has the sickening realization that she is the source of that fear. She never thought of herself as particularly intimidating but over the past few days she’s been seen tousling with the Careers and she towers over the boy due to her age and height. His fear is not unwarranted.

She could take the boy out quickly, disarm him in the least painful way possible, and claim victory without doing too much damage. But every time she looks into those wide, brown eyes, she sees her brother standing in the boy’s place. The same age, the same slight build, it could have easily been Marcus forced into these Games and robbed of his childhood.

She can’t bring herself to fight the boy before her, to put him at any more of a disadvantage in these Games than he already is. If it were Marcus, and another tribute in her place, she would hope they took mercy on her baby brother.

“Tribute, select your weapon,” Seneca repeats, his voice even but laced with impatience.

Nicole focuses on the man in the suit, the person responsible for this twisted pairing and all of the horrors she’s soon to face in the coming weeks. She may just be a pawn in his Games, but she’s not in the arena yet. She still has some free will and she’ll be damned if she lets him take that away.

Her hand reaches out towards the weapons cart at her side and aimlessly grabs the first one her fingers find. She tightens her grip and takes a step forward. The boy from Eleven flinches and raises his baton higher to shield his face.

She shifts her eyes from the trembling tribute to the Head Gamemaker. Her gaze remains steady as she lifts the arm that holds her weapon, then discards it in one swift throw. It hits the ground and rolls to the side. The room is quiet, as if the other tributes are all holding their breath.

When she turns back to her opponent, his face shows obvious confusion. His eyes dart between Nicole and the Gamemaker, unsure what to do next, his baton sinking slowly as the immediate danger has vanished.

His eyes land on her once again and Nicole gives a subtle nod of her head, hoping he’ll understand what she means. She wants him to win this spar, but that can’t happen unless he strikes her down.

The first hardly stings. The next one might leave a bruise. The third strike knocks the air out of her and she stumbles back. When he finally sends her tumbling down, she can’t help but feel proud.

She can hear the mocking laughter of the Careers but it fades into the background as she takes in the boy’s face above her, the realization that he won slowly dawning on him. He smiles and so does Nicole.

Seneca announces the boy as the winner, his tone clipped, restrained irritation leaking through his formal words. A peacekeeper roughly hauls her to her feet and shoves her back into the ring of tributes surrounding the mat. He doesn’t bother to return her to her spot by Robin and instead deposits her right between the tributes from Two and Three.

Her proximity rattles Nicole. She can see her in the corner of her vision, her hair in one single braid today instead of two. She doesn’t acknowledge the redhead’s arrival and Nicole finds her indifference oddly infuriating. They stand in silence, watching the next spar like strangers seated next to one another at the theatre.

When Waverly speaks at last, it startles Nicole.

“That was incredibly stupid.”

Nicole turns and is about to reply with something snarky, to tell her that she’s in no place to be passing judgment, but when she meets Waverly’s eyes she sees a softness in them. It causes her to falter.

“But brave,” The brunette continues. “Really, stupidly brave.” Waverly’s voice is quiet so that only Nicole can hear and hazel eyes hold her captive.

She doesn’t know what to say or how to feel. The anger she’s been carrying around from the first day of training is still there, but it softens, melts under Waverly’s gentle gaze.

“I surrendered, how was that brave?”

Waverly’s eyes are thoughtful and intelligent. They bore into Nicole as if they can see straight through to her soul.

“It didn’t look like a surrender to me,” Waverly states. “It’s easy to hide behind a weapon. Making the choice not to fight is harder.”

“But you wouldn’t know what that’s like, would you?” The words leave Nicole’s mouth on impulse. Her lingering bitterness over their last encounter coming to the surface. The bruises still tender, the hurt still fresh.

Waverly turns her head and sighs, her eyes returning to the spar. “I guess I deserve that.”

It’s not the response Nicole was expecting. Nor was she expecting the disappointment she feels when Waverly’s eyes leave hers.

“I really am sorry, about the other day.”

The words are spoken so softly, Nicole’s not sure she heard them correctly. Or if she believes them.

“No need to apologize. I mean, we’re not friends, right?” She fires Waverly’s words back at her, perhaps a little too harshly.

There’s a long pause after she speaks, filled only by the clang of weapons and the other Careers’ boisterous jeering from the sidelines.

“Right,” Waverly agrees, her voice even and her eyes never leaving the mat.

They remain only inches apart, but those inches feel like a chasm. Whatever brief moment they shared is over, and Nicole tells herself it’s for the best. Since the minute they met, Waverly has done nothing but confuse and disarm her. Those hazel eyes are far more dangerous than any weapon in the room, and Nicole knows if she looks into them for too long, she'll be digging her own grave.

The spar before them concludes and the tributes return to the perimeter. Seneca calls for Midas to step forward and Nicole pities the poor tribute who has to face that particular Career.

It’s not until the girl beside her is stepping onto the mat and walking towards the weapons cart that Nicole realizes the tribute is Waverly.

Nicole watches as she selects two slender sticks like the ones she had been practicing with on the first day. Midas chooses a weapon that resembles a spear but without the blade. The blunt tip doesn’t make the weapon any less threatening.

The sidelines have gone quiet, as this is the first pairing where two Careers have been pitted against each other. Nicole remembers Waverly’s warning look the other day, the way she had silently begged Nicole to walk away from Midas. She studies him now, the way he paces calmly from side to side, his ice-like eyes trained on Waverly, tracking her like a predator would its prey. Nicole can’t explain why, but an uneasy feeling has seeped into her gut and refuses to leave.

Waverly is the first to move. Using her size to her advantage, she darts under Midas' spear and delivers a quick blow to his ribs before retreating just out of reach. Midas appears unfazed by the attack, and swipes at her legs, causing Waverly to stumble backward. Waverly quickly rights herself and the two continue to skirt around each other, moving along the perimeter of the mat and delivering narrowly avoided strikes. They remind Nicole of dancers, two partners in a twisted waltz.

When Midas lands a particularly strong hit to Waverly’s shoulder Nicole finds herself sucking in a breath of air. Waverly cries out and Nicole doesn’t resume breathing until the tribute from Two is once again advancing on her curly-haired opponent.

The spar stretches on, each tribute refusing to relent. Nicole can tell Waverly’s getting tired, her chest rising and falling rapidly and each attack coming slower than the last. Midas’ training shirt is sweat-soaked but rather than grow tired, he appears to be growing increasingly impatient. Waverly has put up more of a fight than he expected.

Midas swings his spear, knocking one of Waverly’s weapons out of her hand. Before she can retrieve it, Midas kicks it away, sending it into the crowd of tributes. Waverly’s gaze is pulled behind her, distracted by her discarded weapon, and that’s when Nicole sees it.

Midas’ fist is balled at his side as he closes in on Waverly but there’s something strange about his clenched hand. There’s a glint, a reflection of the sterile lights above, that can only come from something metal. An image of Midas twirling a pocket knife on the first day of training fills Nicole’s head and before she can think much of it, she hears herself screaming the brunette’s name.

“Waverly, behind you!"

Waverly turns the moment Nicole calls her name. Her eyes land on the illegal weapon and she darts just out of reach of Midas’ blade.

Suddenly, Nicole’s view is blocked by peacekeepers.

“No interfering,” One of them states, gripping Nicole’s arm and beginning to pull her away from the mat.

Nicole protests, struggling to see beyond the burly man in front of her, to know what’s happening on the mat. From what she can hear it appears the two are still sparring.

“He’s got a knife,” She tells the peacekeeper whose hand is gripping her arm.

No response.

"Did you hear me? I said he's got a knife," She repeats. "That's not allowed, he could _kill_ her."

She's met only with silence as her captors continue to drag her further away from the mat.

Nicole is furious. Waverly could be bleeding out any second and no one seems to care. It’s not a surprise that their lives don’t matter, but she would think it’d be an awful pain to have to replace a tribute two days before the Games. _That’s not their problem though_ , she realizes, _it’s Seneca’s_.

“He’s got a knife,” She screams. This time louder, her voice coming out shrill and desperate in an attempt to be heard by the Head Gamemaker.

A hand is clamped over her mouth but a second later she can hear Seneca’s voice ringing out across the training center.

“Stop, stop the match.”

The peacekeepers halt their movement but they don’t release their hold on Nicole. She desperately wants to know what’s happening but all she can see is white armor. Several painfully long seconds tick by.

“Midas Rosewood, from District 1, forfeits this spar due to use of a lethal weapon,” Seneca announces. “Waverly Earp, from District 2, is the winner.”

Nicole relaxes in the peacekeeper’s hold, the urgency of the situation diminishing. The relief she feels is perplexing. Had Waverly been injured in her spar, it would have only helped her. Put her one step closer to victory. So why then, does she feel the tension leave her chest the moment she catches a glimpse of the brunette walking off the mat unharmed.

“Sir,” The peacekeeper in front of her speaks, his voice deep and mechanical. “What do you want us to do with the girl?”

“Oh, right…” The gamemaker appears to have forgotten about Nicole’s existence. “Remove her, take her to her quarters.”

Nicole wants to scream but the hand remains securely over her mouth. She hasn’t even gotten to see Robin’s spar. The thought of him having to face his opponent alone, without Nicole there on the sidelines, makes her feel guilty, like she’s failed him.

Her guilt then turns to anger as the injustice of her removal sinks in. Why is she the one being hauled off when Midas just attempted to kill another tribute? She knew the people of District 1 brushed elbows with the Capitol, that their tributes often became victors, but she didn’t expect the favoritism to be so blatant.

She does her best to make her removal as difficult as possible, letting her feet drag against the floor. Her efforts are futile though, and the peacekeepers have her at the exit within seconds.

The last thing she sees before she's unceremoniously dragged out of the training center is Waverly’s face at the edge of the crowd. She looks scared -terrified, actually- and Nicole's not quite sure why. Their eyes lock for a moment and despite the protests from her brain, Nicole doesn't look away. The brunette’s lips move and Nicole manages to make out just two wordsbefore the doors are slammed shut behind her.

_Thank you._


	7. Chapter 7

Nicole is not a liar. But today, she lies.

The peacekeepers deposit her just outside the doors. When she enters the apartment, she’s instantly met with a barrage of questions from her mentors.

_“Why are you back so early?” “What are peacekeepers doing at our door?” “Why do you look like you just got shoved into a wood chipper?”_

The last one is from Johanna who eyes Nicole’s rumpled form and array of bruises critically.

She’s not in the mood for a lecture. So she lies. She tells them she fainted during training so they brought her back early. The peacekeeper escort is standard protocol. The bruises are from her fight, which isn’t entirely a lie, a few of them are, but she tells them she lost to Champ, not a twelve-year-old boy.

Johanna curses the gamemakers for pairing her with the brawny District 2 tribute and tells her to go take a shower and then they’ll discuss her private training session. Nedley appears more skeptical. He listens patiently while she speaks, but his eyes are quizzical and his silence is an indicator that he doesn’t buy Nicole’s story.

Just as Nicole is about to head to her room, the older mentor stops her with his voice.

“Miss Haught, I do hope you would never lie to me. It would make it awfully hard to keep you alive.”

Nicole freezes, feels her palms become slick with sweat. She doesn’t want to lie to her mentor, to one of the only people who’s ever seen her as something more than a yard worker with a dead father and a morphling addicted mother, but once you start lying it’s hard to stop and the words roll off her tongue with surprising ease.

“No sir, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Okay then, go get cleaned up.” She can hear it in Nedley’s voice, the disappointment. He knows she’s not telling him the truth, but he doesn’t push which somehow makes Nicole feel worse.

The shower gives her time to think. She watches as water trails down the bruises beginning to form on her arms, left by the peacekeeper’s relentless grip. It reminds her of her place. That despite the spacious apartment and decadent meals, she’s a captive awaiting her execution. Her crime merely her existence.

She wants to punch something, but all that surrounds her are the slick walls of the shower that are sure to give her a broken hand. So instead she cries. It’s the first time she’s cried since the reaping. Somehow she held it together when her siblings came to say their goodbyes, even when little Everly hugged her tight and made her promise to come back home so she could read her one more bedtime story. Nicole had lied then too.

She sinks down to the floor of the shower, the hot water assaulting her back and streaming down her face, mixing with her tears. The number of hot showers she has left are numbered. She should be enjoying the fragrant soaps and rich shampoos, but she can’t bring herself to touch anything Capitol. She pulls her knees to her chest, making herself as small she feels, and lets herself break down at last.

It’s not fair, none of it’s fair. The Games, the Districts, the Capitol –everything about this sick and twisted world is unfair. And Nicole is helpless, unable to do anything about it. It doesn’t matter if she let the District 11 boy win their spar or if she prevented Waverly from being stabbed in hers, they’re all going to die anyway. She tells herself she’s going to protect Robin in the arena, but that can only last so long. Eventually, he’ll die like the rest of them.

She considers how easy it would be to step off her circle at the start of the Games. To let herself be blown to bits and saved from enduring the terrors of the coming weeks. The thought gives her a moment of peace, but it quickly passes. She thinks of Everly, watching the Games on their static-filled television, and she knows she can’t do that to her, to any of them. There’s no escaping these Games, and the realization fills her with an emptiness unlike any other.

When Nicole finally drags her tired body out of the shower, her skin is red from the hot water and her fingers wrinkled. She pulls on pants and a top, the fabric too soft, the fit too tight. Her eyes land on her reflection and she sees a stranger staring back at her. There are dark circles under her eyes from restless nights full of Hunger Games-induced dreams and her skin is free of the dirt that used to find its way into every crevice. She looks like a ghost in Capitol clothes, nothing like the girl she knew back in Seven.

By the time she reemerges into the living room, Robin has returned from training and he leaps up the moment she enters the room, pulling her into a tight hug. She immediately stiffens, but then relaxes and embraces the boy back.

“You scared me, Nic. Are you okay?”

Nicole slips out of Robin’s hold and plasters on a smile. “I’m fine, Robin. I used to pass out in the yard all the time, it’s no big deal.”

Robin’s face twists in confusion and she silently begs him to go along with her lie.

“Right,” Robin rubs a hand behind his neck, a tell that he’s anxious. “Iron deficiency, that’ll… that’ll get ya.” He laughs nervously and Nicole wants to be annoyed with his flimsy cover-up, but she knows the boy’s honest nature is one of her favorite things about him.

The arrival of lunch pulls the attention away from Nicole and she’s grateful, for once, to see the heaping pile of food being laid out on the table. The private sessions, set to begin later in the afternoon, are the only topic of conversation throughout the meal.

Nicole listens and nods along with Johanna’s advice to show her strength or her agility, but she’s not really there. The hollowness remains, festers in the pit of her stomach. It cannot be filled by food, but Nicole forces herself to eat the turkey on her plate anyway. With the Games quickly approaching, she needs to take advantage of every last meal she gets.

The only thing that manages to cut through the numbness are thoughts of Waverly, but she does her best to avoid those. They are charged with too many jumbled emotions. She’ll take the emptiness instead.

Lunch concludes and Nicole is told to throw a few axes during her session, demonstrate her climbing ability or fire-starting technique if she has time. Johanna is confident she can score at least a seven, even after losing her spar. Nicole is doubtful.

〜

The waiting room is bleak. Twenty-four chairs arranged in two rectangles with a walkway between. The walls are a dreary gray and one of the lights won’t stop flickering. Nicole has a feeling the longer she waits, the more her sense of time will start slipping away.

It’s strange, being so close to the other tributes. They’re all tightly packed in this small, oppressive room, not even a foot between each chair. Everyone sits civilly, some talking to their district partner in hushed tones. The politeness is nearly comical given that they’ll be at each other’s throats in less than forty-eight hours.

Robin’s leg bounces up and down as the second tribute is called. It's the girl from One with the long, glossy hair and ever-present smirk. Nicole can’t recall her name, just that she is incredibly skilled with a knife. She’s sure whatever she does in her session, she’ll walk away with a high score. Nicole tries to offer Robin a reassuring smile, but even she knows it’s strained. Robin smiles back though, he always does.

The tributes have been seated in the order they’ll be called, placing Nicole in the second row and forced to stare at the back of Champ’s head until it’s his turn to go in front of the gamemakers. Waverly sits to the boy’s left, her French braid hanging over the back of her chair, not a hair out of place.

Nicole wonders what’s going through her head right now. She looks poised, but her hands fiddle with the seam of her shirt. Is she nervous? The notion seems silly, she’s a Career, after all, they always make 10’s and above. Nicole thinks back to the frightened look on her face this morning as she was hauled away, her quiet apology whispered during the spars, and the way she had smiled on the night of the parade. There was something different about this girl, she was certain about that. But what Nicole can’t figure out, is which parts of the girl from Two are real, and which ones are part of an elaborate act, as fake as the tears that had filled her eyes during their spar. She stares at Waverly’s profile, hoping that somehow, all of her secrets will come tumbling out of her head. Despite her meticulous observation, not a single secret slips out.

Champ is the next tribute to leave the waiting room, leaving only Waverly in the row before her. The minute the door slams shut Waverly scoots into Champ’s empty chair and swivels to face Nicole.

“Thank you, for warning me about the knife,” She whispers.

Nicole whips her head around, worried a peacekeeper is about to haul Waverly back into her original seat, but the two guards seem unbothered by the brunette’s game of musical chairs. A few tributes give them strange looks, perhaps due to lingering resentment for their role in the creation of the sparring round, or from the sheer absurdity of a Career talking to a tribute from Seven. Whatever the reason, their stares make Nicole nervous, and she does her best to appear indifferent.

“It’s no big deal,” Nicole mumbles, “I was just-”

“Keeping things fair?” Waverly finishes her sentence with a slight smirk, referencing the last time Nicole put herself in harm's way to help the brunette.

Nicole feels a blush paint her cheeks and she focuses her eyes on her shoes, avoiding the ones that glint before her. “Yeah, you could call it that.”

Her gaze is pulled upward when she hears Waverly speak again, softer this time.

"I'm glad you're alright. I-I thought they were going to hurt you or..."

Waverly's voice trails off and the worry in her tone surprises Nicole. She hadn't considered that perhaps, she occupied the brunette's thoughts as much as the other girl occupied her own.

"I'm okay," Nicole assures her. "Or as okay as I can be, given the circumstances." She offers Waverly a tentative smile. "I don't know why but, I'm glad you're not hurt either."

Waverly laughs and it reminds Nicole of springtime and warm apple cider and everything good in the world.

"Gee thanks," She replies sarcastically and Nicole hurries to defend herself.

"Can you blame me for being confused? You knocked me on my ass the other day and acted like you wanted nothing to do with me." Nicole does her best to keep her voice down as she recalls their rocky past. "I shouldn't even be talking to you right now."

She shifts her eyes to the side and catches Robin's reproachful gaze that says, _no you shouldn't._ She's a hypocrite and they both know it. 

"No, you're right. I was awful to you, and I'm sorry." Waverly brings her hand to rest lightly on Nicole's and it draws her attention back to the brunette. "I mean it, Nicole."

Nicole would be lying if she said she didn't desperately want to believe the Career's words, to give in to those imploring hazel eyes.

"But for the record, you knocked me on my ass as well." Waverly's voice is teasing and it makes heat creep up Nicole's neck.

"Yeah well..." The words get caught in her mouth and Nicole is acutely aware of what an idiot she sounds like. Thankfully, Waverly changes the subject.

“You saved my life today,” Waverly breathes, squeezing her hand. “I won’t forget that.”

There is a promise in those words. Not quite an alliance, but an acknowledgment of an unpaid debt. A silent guarantee that when Nicole dies, it won’t be at Waverly’s hand. It’s a nice sentiment, but Nicole’s not sure how well Waverly’s memory will work when they come face to face in the arena.

“What about him?” Nicole shifts her eyes over to the empty seat once occupied by Midas. “Can you forget what he did?”

Waverly removes her hand, retracts back into herself.

“I have to.” Her voice is hushed, her eyes darting away from Nicole’s and the judgment she is sure they will hold.

“Why?” Nicole questions, leaning forward. “He pulled a knife on you and he’s supposed to be your ally. How can you just move past that?”

Waverly chews her lip, her chin resting on her arms which lay folded over the top of the chair. “I don’t have much of choice,” She admits. “I didn’t ask to be a Career. I was forced into this alliance the moment we arrived at the Capitol. Our mentors agreed on it. I didn’t…” Her voice cracks and her eyes look beyond Nicole. “I didn’t ask for any of this, okay?”

Waverly looks so fragile right now. Her eyes misty and her brow creased. Nicole wants to reach out and comfort her but she’s wary.

“Didn’t you volunteer though?”

Waverly laughs. It's a bitter, dry scoff. Not the sweet, honey-coated laugh from before.

“There was nothing voluntary about my reaping,” Waverly’s voice is only but a whisper, and her eyes have gone stormy. “I was forced into these Games, same as you.”

Nicole is startled by Waverly’s confession. It doesn’t fit with everything she knows about the Career districts. But when she thinks about it, she wonders how much of her knowledge of the other districts came from the Capitol. For all she knows, they could have been feeding her lies, planting seeds of hatred between the districts to distract them from their shared hatred of the Capitol.

“I thought the tributes from your district volunteered.”

“They do,” Waverly affirms. “Most of the time, at least. But is it really volunteering when you’ve been trained your whole life to become a tribute? Conditioned to want the _great honor_ of killing twenty-three other kids in the name of your district. They think they want to do this, but they were bred for it. They didn’t have much of a choice from the start.”

Nicole’s head is swirling with all this new information, but she wants to know more, she wants to know everything. “And what about you? Weren’t you trained for this too?”

“I was, but,” Waverly sighs and shakes her head. “I was never meant to end up here. I wasn’t at the top of my class, I wasn’t even old enough to be picked.”

“So why did they choose you?”

Nicole knows she’s pushing the other girl, can tell she’s entering dangerous territory. She prepares herself for Waverly’s walls to go back up, for her to tell her it’s none of her business and slide back into her chair, but Waverly remains. Her eyes melancholy but steady, never leaving Nicole’s.

“They didn’t, they chose my sister.”

“Then…”

“Then why isn’t she here? Because she said no.” Nicole watches as a tear slowly slips down Waverly’s cheek. “And now she’s dead.”

“Waverly Earp,” The peacekeeper by the door calls her name, summoning the District 2 tribute to her private session.

Nicole wants to say something, wills herself to say anything, but when she opens her mouth nothing comes out. Waverly sits up and quickly brushes the tears from her face. She smiles at Nicole, a pained smile that bears more resemblance to a grimace.

“Time to show them what a great killer they made out of me.” Her voice is light, playful, but there’s a bitterness to it, a bitterness Nicole knows all too well.

Even after Waverly has left the room, Nicole’s thoughts remain tied to her. She thinks of the first time she saw her, dressed in white armor at the parade. She had known that she contained polarities, that there was darkness beneath the light that radiated from her. But she had no idea the sorrow that she carried, the pain.

Her eyes scan across the room, at the other tributes awaiting their turn to perform for the gamemakers. Hoping they’ll give them a high enough score that some rich Capitol citizen will decide their life has some value to it. That they’ll send them a piece of bread or a blanket to keep them warm while they await their inevitable death. They’re all causalities of the system. They’ve all had things taken from them by the Capitol before they even stepped foot into their reapings.

By the time Nicole’s name is called she’s practically seething.

〜

The training center feels larger somehow without the other tributes. Nicole heads toward the center of the room, her footsteps echoing as she walks. Her eyes scan the balcony above, where gamemakers sit in plush chairs chatting idly and watching her with vague interest.

She digs her fingernails into her palm, tries to remain focused, calm. _Find the axes, show them your strength_. She hears Johanna’s words in her head and lets her feet lead her over to the weapons rack. The first axe she selects is small and light. She hits the target with ease.

Her success earns her a few raised eyebrows from the viewing box, but the gamemakers’ attention is fleeting. She needs to do something more impressive. This time, she selects the heaviest axe she can find. It pulls her arm down and she has to grip it with two hands. Her arms shake as she lifts it over her shoulder and sends it catapulting across the room.

The axe lodges in the center of a target with a loud _thwack_ and Nicole is certain that ought to earn her a decent score. But when she shifts her gaze toward the balcony, she realizes only one gamemaker was watching her throw, and even he seems more impressed with the chocolate cake in front of him than Nicole’s bullseye.

The gamemakers’ disinterest is the final straw. She refuses to stand here and beg for scraps of their attention, to participate in the cruel circus of it all.

She grabs a new axe, this one lighter than the last, and for a second, she considers launching it at the gamemakers. But then her eyes land on something else. A small, silver box attached to the ceiling, the one the boy from Three pointed out.

_You know what is possible? Shutting down the power in this room. All of the lights are wired up to that one box up in the rafters._

It’s an insane idea, but Nicole’s operating under pure emotion, not rationality. She grabs a quiver of arrows and dumps out its content, then slips the band over her shoulder and places her axe inside. It’s not the most secure way to transport her weapon, but it will have to do. She then heads for the obstacle course where beams that stretch to the ceiling have protrusions and notches meant to simulate the branches and handholds on a tree. It’s time to demonstrate her aptitude for climbing.

It starts off easy. She’s halfway up the faux-tree when her hand slips for the first time. She holds on tightly with her other hand and pushes onward, silently cursing her sweaty palms. By the time she reaches the top, her heart is hammering in her chest. She’s not afraid of heights, she never has been, but the longer she climbs, the more she begins to doubt her plan.

A moment passes where Nicole is immobilized, her body pressed against the cool metal and her eyes closed. She can feel the soft draft of air conditioning hitting her skin, a luxury her family was never able to afford.

She thinks of the boy from Eleven, far too young for these Games, his future stolen from him at the age of twelve. She thinks of Robin, who will die before he ever truly got to live. She thinks of her siblings, of the sweet faces she may never see again. She imagines them watching her slowly starve on their television while their own bellies grow empty, their mother as much of a ghost as their late father, and no one left to put food on the table. And lastly, she thinks of Waverly, forced into a role she never asked for her, her sister taken from her for having the courage to say no. She can see her now, her face framed by wisps of light brown, her hazel eyes full of quiet sorrow.

Nicole’s been spending the past three days learning survival skills and making strategies. She’s been worrying about which tributes she can trust and which want her dead. But suspended above the training center, clutching tightly to the metal rungs, she realizes how silly that was. Because if she dies in that arena, and it’s likely she will, it won’t be a tribute that’s killed her, it will be the Capitol. It’s always been the Capitol.

Nicole’s resolve is solidified and she pushes herself upward, extending her arm to a nearby beam that runs across the ceiling. She hauls her body up, not daring to look down at the drop below. When she’s situated on the beam she chances a glance at the gamemakers’ box and sees she has captured their attention. _About time_ , she thinks.

She removes the axe from her quiver and begins shimmying along them beam, heading for the electrical box in the center. If the gamemakers have any idea what she’s up to, they don’t show it. Instead, they all stand with curious expressions as a tribute inches her way along the rafters.

When she reaches her destination, Nicole flattens her body on the beam, wrapping one arm around the metal structure to prevent her from tipping over. She then extends her axe-wielding arm to the side and sends it crashing into the electrical box.

There’s a sound of crunching metal and Nicole goes in for another swing. This one slices a gash in the side and the sight of exposed wires makes Nicole falter before swinging again. She’s not trying to electrocute herself while thirty feet up.

By now there’s a commotion in the gamemakers’ box as it’s clear Nicole’s doing something she’s not supposed to. She watches as the peacekeepers standing guard draw their weapons and the stupidity of what she’s done strikes her. Instead of surrender, it only makes her double down on the task at hand. She figures the peacekeepers can’t shoot her if they can’t see her.

She places the axe in front of her on the beam and twists so she can get a better look at the mess of wires below. Nicole knows next to nothing about electricity or technology, but she figures pulling out wires is not what you do when you want something to work. So she starts there. The first few wires have no result and she gets a nasty shock in the process. She’s about to give up hope when she spots a thick black cord with a blinking light beside it. It looks important, so she reaches for it. Her fingers latch onto the cord and she tugs.

The moment the wire leaves its socket the room is enveloped in darkness and chaos erupts.

〜

Nicole’s memories of the events following the power outage are jumbled. She recalls shouting and gunshots. Somehow she managed to make it back to the pillar she had originally climbed up while cloaked in darkness, but she forgot her axe in the process, rendering her defenseless.

She had shimmed down the faux-tree only to be immediately seized by peacekeepers. If she had thought they’d been rough with her before, that was nothing in comparison to the way they had tackled and detained her that night.

For a moment, Nicole had considered the possibility that this was the end. That she would never reach the arena because they were going to execute her here and there. The thought should have comforted her, but the funny thing about death is you think you’re ready for it right up to the moment you come face to face with your own mortality. Then you suddenly have a fierce desire to live.

She fought like hell against the peacekeepers which only earned her a pair of cuffs around her wrists and a few new bruises to add to her growing collection. When she was returned to her apartment, there was no avoiding the onslaught of questions at her battered state and restraints. The cuffs were removed upon her arrival but only after her mentors had seen their tribute bound like a criminal.

Nicole tried her best to downplay the severity of her actions but that only caused her mentors to grow more distressed. Nedley paced back and forth, a hand relentlessly stroking his stubbly beard, and Johanna entered into a heated rant that had Nicole backing up as her mentor admonished her like a child.

So now she stands, her back pressed up against a marble countertop and her hands gripping its edges, as Johanna tells her how _astronomically_ stupid it was to shut down the power in her private session.

Nicole somewhat agrees, it almost got her killed, but the mentor’s condescending tone and biting remarks just make her argue back like a petulant child.

“So what?” She snaps. “I’m going to die anyway, the worst thing they can do is kill me a couple of days early.”

“You don’t understand,” Johanna growls, frustration threatening to boil over. “You may _think_ the worst thing they can do to you is throw you into the arena to die but you’re wrong. What’s worse is winning, when they own you and your body and your family. Your actions don’t just affect you, they affect everyone you have ever loved. Because at some point, when roughing you up and sending mutts after you doesn’t work anymore, they’ll start hurting the ones you hold dear. They’ll use _them_ to get to _you_.” She punctuates her words with a finger cast to the side, then shoved at Nicole’s chest.

Dread washes over Nicole. Sick, chilling dread. The floor feels like it’s tilting out from under her and her stomach churns. Her mouth opens to offer up a feeble response but Johanna doesn’t give her time to speak.

“Your actions have consequences, Nicole. You’re not going to take down the Capitol by pissing off the gamemakers, you’re just going to put yourself and your family in danger. The minute your name was called at the reaping you became Capitol property. The sooner you accept that…”

Nicole doesn’t hear the rest of what Johanna says because she shoves past her and stumbles towards the balcony door. When she bursts into the cool night air she immediately finds the ledge and her sweaty palms grip the rough stone as she vomits over the edge. She heaves until her stomach stops flipping and her throat burns. Her vision is blurred, making the cars below look like smudges of light, dancing across her vision.

She hears the sound of approaching footsteps and grips the stone ledge harder. “Fuck off Johanna,” She hisses.

“Language, Miss Haught.”

Nicole spins around to see Nedley standing behind her. His hands tucked into the pockets of his pants and his face gentle.

“I’m sorry I thought you were-”

Nedley waves off her apology and comes to join her by the ledge. “I know, it’s okay. Johnna means well but her delivery leaves a lot to be desired.”

He gives her a knowing look and Nicole instantly relaxes, turning back to face the city. “Was it true? What she said about my family. Will they really hurt them for what I did?”

The older man takes a moment to respond and his silence makes Nicole fear the worst. She doesn’t want to throw up in front of the mentor but if he confirms her fears she just might hurl again.

“I believe your family is safe, for the time being.” Nicole feels relief flood over her. She wants to hug the man next to her but decides against it. “You are only a tribute, not a victor,” Nedley continues. “Most likely they’ll just make your time in the Games a living hell.”

“I can handle that,” Nicole speaks with fervor. “I can handle anything they throw at me as long as my family stays safe.”

Nedley nods, his face serious. “Okay then, we can still turn this around. Interviews are tomorrow evening and you’ll have all day to prepare. I wouldn’t expect a very high training score after tonight's events, so you’ll have to make the audience _like_ you.”

Nicole raises her eyebrows, skeptical at her ability to charm a room full of Capitol citizens.

“I have faith in you, Miss Haught. But don’t make me question that faith by lying to me again,” His bushy eyebrows raise and he gives her a pointed look. “I know what happened during the spars,” He admits and Nicole smiles sheepishly.

“I’m sorry I just, I didn’t want to let you down anymore. I guess it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.” She picks at a chip in the ledge and lets out a strained laugh at her uncanny ability to disappoint her mentors in every possible way.

Nedley shakes his head. “I'm saddened that you felt you could not tell me the truth. But, Nicole,” His use of her first name catches her off guard. “Do not ever think that I will be disappointed in you standing up for what is right.”

The mentor notes the confused look on Nicole’s face and continues. “Now what you did this evening, that was childish and unproductive. It accomplished nothing but put your life in danger and garner you some powerful enemies. This morning, on the other hand, you stepped down from an unfair fight and you saved a life. _That_ was brave.”

Fresh tears spring in her eyes at the mentor’s words. After so many years of taking care of herself and her siblings, she forgot what it was like to have someone looking out for her. To have someone to disappoint and to make proud.

“Thank you, sir,” Nicole speaks sincerely. “I promise I won’t lie to you ever again.”

“Good. Now I must caution you, in the arena, every life you save is a life that could end up taking your own. As your mentor, I must remind you of that.”

Nicole nods. “I understand.”

“Tomorrow will be about more than just getting sponsors," Nedley explains. "You need to show the gamemakers, show the president, that you’re not going to cause any more trouble. That you’re willing to play by their rules.”

The thought of putting on an act for Seneca and Snow, of sucking up to the Capitol on national television, makes her taste bile. But she knows it’s what she has to do. She refuses to put her family at any greater risk than she already has.

Nicole stands up straighter, drying her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. She takes a shaky breath and swallows down her pride. "I can do that."

"Then it's time." Nedley places a hand on her shoulder, the action so father-like it almost triggers a fresh wave of tears from Nicole but she blinks them away.

"Time for what?" Nicole asks, her voice hoarse.

"It's time to start playing their game."


	8. Chapter 8

The smell of rich coffee fills Nicole's lungs and she sighs before placing the mug to her lips and taking a sip. It’s her last day of freedom, if you can even call it that, before she’ll be living off of berries and God-knows-what else. She decides to let herself indulge in the trivial luxuries of the Capitol, if only for a day. She plucks a buttery croissant from the tray in front of her and relishes in the way the crust flakes and crumbles as she takes a bite.

As she feasts, Nicole’s eyes wander to the large set of windows to her left. The Capitol is just waking up. A few people are milling around the streets. Some walk in pairs while others hurry by heading somewhere important. All of them are donning absurd colors that can be seen even from seven stories up. Nicole wonders what’s going through their minds right now. Is it just another day for them? Are they heading to work or meeting a friend for breakfast? Perhaps the two walking side by side are chatting about the upcoming Games, discussing the training scores from last night and which tribute is their favorite. One of them –the one with the long lavender hair and plum-colored dress probably –might mention the pitiful tribute from Seven, the one who scored a zero.

The croissant suddenly tastes like paper in Nicole’s mouth and she struggles to swallow it down. She thinks back to last night, after everyone had calmed down and it was time to watch the scores be announced. They had all squeezed onto the sofa, the same sofa she sits on now, and watched in tense silence as the scores rolled in. The Careers, of course, all scored highly, including Waverly who received a respectable 10. They all cheered for Robin when a 6 flashed across the screen, the boy blushing and sliding further down the cushions at their applause. When Nicole’s picture came up, everyone held their breath and their escort audibly gasped when a 0 appeared next to her name. Then it was Nicole’s turn to sink into the sofa and attempt to disappear.

Nicole learned that zeroes are practically unheard of. According to Johanna, you would have to literally drop dead in the middle of your private session to receive such a low score. Or, in Nicole’s case, purposefully lose your spar and drive an axe into the power box. After her score was announced, Johanna switched from drinking wine to vodka. Robin tried to offer her a consoling hug but Nicole shrugged it off. Nedley sighed, switched off the television, and told Nicole that she was an anomaly, and that, at least, should count for something.

 _“They’re not going to forget your name, that’s for sure,”_ The mentor had said, before bidding everyone goodnight and retiring to his quarters. Nicole couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but she had a feeling it was the latter.

“I have a surprise for you.”

Nicole is jolted from her thoughts as she turns to find Johanna standing behind her, smirking and clutching a folder to her chest.

“Should I be scared?” Nicole asks, eyeing the folder and her mentor’s grin suspiciously.

“Is it that hard to believe I would do something nice for you?” Johanna questions, placing her hands on her hips and switching her smirk to a scowl.

“Um… yes?” Nicole replies tentatively, bracing herself for the older girl’s annoyance but it doesn’t come. Johanna just shakes her head and moves to sit next to Nicole on the plush sofa.

She places the folder in Nicole’s lap. “This is what you’re going to be wearing tonight.” The devilish smile returns as Johanna waits for Nicole to open the folder. “Go on now, open it.”

Nicole sets down her mug and carefully lifts the top of the folder to find a page full of sketches. Her eyes trace over the designs and she gasps.

“You’re welcome,” Johanna sings as Nicole ghosts her fingers over the pages.

In the center is a sketch of a girl with fiery red hair that could only be Nicole. She wears a deep, forest green pantsuit with nothing but a lace bodice underneath. The suit is buttoned in a way that remains classy, but there’s no denying the striking elegance and tasteful allure of the design. Surrounding the main sketch are smaller pictures of jewelry, heels, and hair accessories, all in the same rich green as the suit or a haunting obsidian black. It’s quite possibly the most beautiful piece of clothing Nicole has ever seen. It feels too good to be true.

“Is the surprise that you murdered Bellona and got me a new stylist?” Nicole’s tone is joking but she’s only partly kidding. She wouldn’t put it past Johanna to off the incompetent stylist.

The girl beside her laughs, a sound Nicole rarely hears from the sullen brunette. “No, but now that you say it, I kind of wish I did. I just harassed the old hag all week until she sketched up something decent and without tree branches coming off of it.”

Nicole manages to tear her eyes away from the page and looks toward her mentor. “Thank you, Johanna,” She speaks sincerely.

Johanna smiles softly and shrugs. “I just didn’t want you to look stupid.”

“Well you out-did yourself because this is… incredible,” Nicole sighs, letting her eyes fall back on the silken suit.

“I know,” Johanna boasts. “So doesn’t mess it up by saying something stupid tonight,” She grabs the folder off Nicole’s lap and uses it to swat her on the head.

“Hey!” Nicole cries, dodging the mentor’s assault.

“You have conversation practice with Hansen in ten, and I expect you to actually participate. It doesn’t matter how good you look if you sound like a whiny district kid with a bad attitude and a problem with authority.”

Nicole narrows her eyes at the mentor. “Aren’t you just describing yourself?”

“Impossible,” Johanna huffs, standing up and speaking to no one in particular. “Why do I even try?”

〜

Conversation practice is just as tiresome as Nicole anticipated. Hansen, her silver-haired escort with an affinity for crocodile print, has little patience for Nicole’s lack of manners and her “generally hostile nature”, as he puts it.

Given that she’s about to be dumped into an arena to battle other children to the death, Nicole thinks she should be allowed to be a little hostile.

“Let’s try it again, Nicky,” The escort sings, a grin plastered on his face that looks quite frightening given that he dyed his teeth silver to match his metallic hair. The nickname is also not helping with Nicole’s hostility.

“Now remember, you have to smile as you talk,” Hansen instructs, his silver fangs glinting. “And sit up straight, slouching is very unbecoming of a young lady like yourself.”

Nicole fights back the urge to roll her eyes and straightens her spine. She tries to force her lips into a smile but her efforts only cause Hansen’s face to twist in a grimace.

“No no, not like that. That smile is depressing, it makes me want to roll over and die.”

“Great,” Nicole deadpans, “I’ll use it in the arena.”

The escort shakes his head. “That was a poor choice of words on my part, but Nicky-”

“It’s Nicole.”

Hansen sighs and starts again. “Nicole, I know you don’t want to be here…”

Nicole scoffs, because that is just about the biggest understatement she’s ever heard, but Hansen continues.

“...but you have to convince them that you do. If you want them to like you, you need to be pleasant. Charming, even. I know it sounds absurd, and you have every reason to hate everyone out there in that audience, but they have deep pockets sweetheart and if you can paint on a smile for fifteen minutes, it could save your life.”

Nicole is taken aback by the escort’s candor. His acknowledgment and understanding of her deep hatred for the Capitol, for people like him. She looks at the gaudy man before her and for the first time, she sees a person. A person who is trying, in his own, strange Capitol way, to help her.

“Ok,” She relents. “Teach me how to fake it.”

Hansen smiles, his cheeks hardly moving from whatever’s been injected into his face to keep him perpetually looking like he's in his twenties. “Darling I thought you would never ask.”

By the end of her session with Hansen, Nicole is feeling fairly confident about her interview skills. Nedley stops by for the end of it and runs through a few practice questions with Nicole. A sense of pride washes through her when the mentor pats her on the back and tells her he’s impressed with her answers.

As the sun begins to dip in the sky, Nicole and Robin are transported to another building, this one dome-shaped and deeper in the heart of the Capitol. They barely have time to converse before they’re whisked away to separate rooms and made up for the night.

Johanna sits in Nicole’s dressing room, popping grapes in her mouth as she shouts orders at the people straightening her hair or dosing her body in a shimmery substance that makes her skin look like it sparkles. In between snacking and berating the Capitol workers, Johanna fires off potential interview questions at Nicole and tells her which of her answers are more or less stupid than the others. The onslaught of questions is exhausting, but it leaves Nicole feeling far more prepared than she was that morning.

When Nicole sees herself in the mirror for the first time that evening, she can’t quite believe the reflection belongs to her. She’s wearing the dark green pantsuit from the sketch and somehow it looks even better in person. The fabric is a soft, silky material that’s loose enough for her to move freely without it swallowing her figure. The piece has been tailored to fit her body perfectly, the waist synching ever so slightly where the jacket is buttoned and the pants fall all the way down to her ankles. Nicole thinks back to all the trousers that she would outgrow soon after they’d been purchased, forcing her to walk around in too-short pants because of her rapidly elongating limbs and empty wallet. She's not sure she's ever worn a pair of pants that fit her properly until now.

The bodice is made of black lace. When she was first handed the undergarment, Nicole couldn’t help but blush at the idea of wearing such a thing. But now only hints of the lace can be seen where the jacket doesn’t cover, creating the perfect balance of sophistication and suggestion. Her hair has been slicked back, falling down her shoulders in soft sheets of red. A black hairpiece that resembles a web of tree branches lays flat against the side of her head, just above her ear. Bellona couldn’t resist throwing in the forest-inspired accessory, and Nicole has to admit she doesn’t hate it.

She stands two inches taller in a pair of black heels. They create a striking silhouette but they make her wobble slightly with each step. A necklace snakes its way around her neck and down her chest until it disappears beneath the bodice. Small emeralds glint from the chains, seven to be exact. Another small nod to her home district. Her hands slip into the pockets of her slacks and she tilts her chin, noting the way her face has been painted to accentuate her cheekbones and the dark circles under her eyes have been erased from sight. Her lids are covered in smoky greys and black liner, her lashes thick with a strange black substance that makes them twice their normal length.

“You look powerful.”

Nicole turns to find Johanna standing behind her, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes appraising.

“Funny,” Nicole laughs, “Because I’ve never felt so powerless.”

Johanna steps closer and places her hands on Nicole’s shoulders, smoothing the fabric before letting them settle.

“Tonight, you’re in control. You have fifteen minutes of the Capitol’s undivided attention. You’re going to make them adore you.” She squeezes Nicole’s shoulders and steps back. “You’re a stubborn, pain in my ass but I’m rooting for you, kid. You can do this.”

Nicole swallows down her nerves and nods her head. “I can do this.”

“Then let’s not keep those bastards waiting,” Johanna announces, leading the way to the dressing room doors.

〜

Nicole feels her stomach twist as she follows her mentor through a maze of hallways, the sound of roaring applause growing nearer. They arrive in a holding room, just off the stage. A large screen holds a picture of Caesar Flickerman, his hair dyed a crimson red this year, smiling and talking to the sea of people as he roams the stage.

The room is large enough to hold half of the tributes along with their mentors and escorts. The latter two groups mill about the room, making amicable conversation and perusing the buffet table set against the back wall. The tributes are not as social, standing in pairs or in solitude, eyes trained on the screen or the floor as they await their turn in the spotlight. Even the Careers are more subdued tonight, the tributes from One in quiet concentration, the others held elsewhere.

Robin comes to stand at Nicole’s side and she smiles at the boy’s transformation. He wears a black suit with a crisp collard shirt underneath, the fabric the same color green as her pantsuit. His tie is long and thin. It’s black like the jacket but embroidered with twisting tree branches stitched with green thread. The same embroidery can be seen along the bottom of his jacket, thin tendrils reaching up towards his shoulders. Some sort of gel has been run through his hair, making it appear purposefully rumpled.

Nicole adjusts the tie around Robin’s neck, pulling tight where it had started to come loose. “When did you go and grow up on me?” She jokes.

Robin blushes and squirms away from her hands. “You’re only three years older than me,” He mumbles.

“Well you look handsome, Robin.”

The boy fiddles with the wooden ring on his finger before lifting his eyes to meet Nicole’s. “Thanks, you look um... nice, as well.”

Nicole figures that’s the best compliment she’s going to get from the boy and shifts the subject away from their make-overs and to the approaching interviews. After a few more minutes of Caesar’s exchange with the audience, the first tribute is summoned to the stage and a hush falls over the room.

“Now put your hands together for Rosita Bustillos, from District 1,” Caesar exclaims, the audience giving another mighty roar as the stunning tribute emerges from the sides. The diamonds draped around her neck glint under the stage lights and her dress, the same color red as Caesar’s hair, looks luminescent against her olive-toned skin. She’s practically dripping in jewels, the precious stones dangling from her ears, her wrists, and even woven into her cascading brown curls. It’s all very fitting for District 1, where luxury goods are crafted for Capitol consumption.

The tribute falls into an easy rapport with Caesar. The two joke about their matching outfits, a coincidence that Nicole’s sure was anything but. They talk about meaningless things, but the girl keeps her chin propped on her arm, leaning in towards Caesar and flashing a knowing smile at the audience whenever one of them says something that’s meant to be funny. One of her legs slips out of the slit in her dress and she bats her eyes at the camera like she’s flirting with whoever’s watching on the other end. When Caesar asks about her strategy for the Games, the girl smiles as she describes her plan to slit the other tributes’ throats.

Midas is up next. He is much more reserved in his interview than his district partner, stiff even. But he is quick-witted and charming and those ice-like eyes pierce through the camera. When he shakes Caesar’s hand before exiting the stage, Nicole swears she sees Caesar’s face twitch, ever so slightly, under the boy’s chilling stare –a tell that the interviewer found the boy just as unnerving as Nicole.

Champ’s interview is all bravado. He strolls out onto the stage and claps Caesar on the back before plopping down in the empty chair. His posture is relaxed, one foot propped on the opposite knee. He takes up space. He is loud. He is everything Midas is not. By the end of his interview, he has the crowd roaring and he throws a wink at the audience before walking off the stage, disappearing into whatever room the tributes are taken to after their time with Caesar.

When it’s Waverly’s turn, Nicole’s eyes are glued to the screen. Tonight, she looks like a princess. It’s not what Nicole was expecting from the Career who was decked out in sultry battle armor at the parade. Her hair falls down her back in soft curls, her dress a glittering silver. The sleeves are long and sheer and the skirt fans out around her legs in pleats of misty grey gossamer. Her makeup tonight is different as well, much lighter, her cheeks a rosy pink. Nicole feels her breath catch in her throat the moment the camera zooms in for a close-up and Waverly smiles at the lens, the expression illuminating her whole face.

Waverly is effervescent. Caesar and the audience are immediately taken with her. She talks animatedly, her hands moving as she speaks in an endearing sort of way. Nicole can’t even process what she’s saying because she's so spellbound by the image before her, by the way she giggles at something Caesar said, or the way her eyes crease around the edges when she smiles too wide. Nicole has no doubts that Waverly will walk away with a long list of sponsors tonight.

That is until Caesar asks about her family.

It’s like a switch is flicked off somewhere deep inside Waverly’s head. The light in her eyes dims and her smile drops. Her face goes white and her hands find the tulle of her dress and begin twisting it around her fingers. When Waverly doesn’t immediately respond Caesar tries again.

“Come on now,” The interviewer coaxes, “There must be someone you’re wanting to come home to.”

Waverly lifts her eyes from her skirt. She looks out at the audience and then back towards Caesar as if she has only just realized she’s on stage. “There’s no one left,” She says, her voice hollow.

The crowd murmurs uncomfortably, clearing missing the bubbly girl from before. This new, fidgety, grief-stricken Waverly is unsettling to them. They want laughter and charming banter, not misery and heartache.

Caesar tries to salvage the conversation, but instead, he only digs himself in deeper. “I heard you have a sister, what about her?”

Waverly’s hands shake, and her voice sounds as if it is dangerously close to breaking. “Which one?” She asks. “The one that was shot by a peacekeeper when I was eight or the one that-”

Waverly’s mic cuts out. Nicole watches as her lips continue to move but no sound can be heard. Her eyebrows knit in confusion and Caesar presses a hand to his ear like someone is speaking into it. He straightens and gives that megawatt smile to the crowd.

“Looks like we’re having some technical difficulties here folks. Let’s give it up one more time for Waverly Earp, from District 2!”

He grasps Waverly’s hand in his own and pulls her up to stand. She moves robotically, as if she is a puppet being pulled by strings. He raises their joined hands in the air and she gives a feeble attempt at a smile before she’s quickly ushered off the stage.

Nicole watches her walk towards the curtains, her face laced with confusion and something else. Sadness, maybe, or anger. She doesn’t get to find out because Waverly disappears from the screen and the next tribute is already waving to the crowd. She wants to find her, to tell her that they’re all cowards, too afraid to hear the truth of their ways. There were no technical difficulties up on that stage, Nicole is certain of that. Waverly was silenced, her words censored the minute she stepped off-script. It makes Nicole’s blood boil and she’s tempted to speak her mind during her own interview but then Johanna is at her side, reminding her of what they practiced and what’s at stake. It’s almost as if she could sense Nicole’s crumbling resolve, like she knew she was on the verge of throwing away all that they had worked on that day.

She forces all thoughts of Waverly out of her head as her interview grows nearer. Before she knows it, there’s a hand on her back guiding her forward and Cesar’s shouting her name into the microphone. It takes her a moment to remember how to walk and she nearly stumbles on her way onto the stage, righting herself just before she emerges from the curtains.

The lights are blinding. She can’t see the crowd at first but she can hear them, their applause filling the room and bouncing off the walls. It’s not as loud as some of the other tributes’, but it’s still deafening. Suddenly she remembers she’s supposed to be smiling and flashes her best attempt at a charming grin. The reaction is instant, the cheering even louder than before. Nicole gains confidence and her fake smile morphs into a real one as shakes Caesar's hand and settles into her seat.

“Nicole, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Caesar beams, his animated face almost cartoonish when witnessed from up close. “How has your stay in the Capitol been so far?”

Nicole bites back the answer she wants to give. She wants to tell him that it’s been a waking nightmare and that no lavish entrée or tailored-suit is going to distract her from the fact that come tomorrow morning, she’ll be fighting for her life. But she doesn’t say any of those things. Instead, she smiles and repeats the line she’s been rehearsing all afternoon.

“It’s been wonderful. I never knew food could taste this good. Did you know there’s such a thing as chocolate pizza?”

“Well of course, I eat it practically every day,” Caesar smiles and leans closer to Nicole as if he’s about to tell her a secret. “Now have you tried the one with the berries and mascarpone cheese? It is _heavenly_.” He draws out the last word in the way that only Capitol citizens do.

“I haven’t, but I know what I’m ordering for dinner tonight.” The audience laughs and Nicole leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, her nerves beginning to settle.

“You’ll have to tell me what you think,” Caesar insists and Nicole nearly laughs at the absurdity of such a statement, because odds are she’ll be long dead before she ever gets to tell Caesar Flickerman about her thoughts on berry mascarpone pizza. But she agrees regardless.

“Now Nicole,” He levels her with a serious gaze, “we simply must talk about your training score. Tell me, how did you feel when you saw that zero flash across your TV last night?”

“I felt honored, actually,” She pauses for a beat, just as she practiced, letting the audience process her unexpected words. “You know,” Nicole smiles, a sly sort of smile that dimples only one of her cheeks, “I think I might have set a new record.”

Nicole has no idea if this is true, surely another tribute has received a zero in training before, but to her relief, Caesar continues with her shtick. “I think you have. Congratulations on your accomplishment.”

“Thank you, it was nothing,” Nicole replies cheekily, this time turning to the audience and sending a subtle wink their way. This earns her a few whistles and another round of laughter.

“Just between you and me,” Caesar makes a shushing gesture towards the audience before continuing, “Can you tell me what it is that you did to earn such a score?”

Nicole wasn’t prepared for this question. Their private sessions are meant to be confidential. She so badly wants to divulge the true nature of her session, but she remembers the way Waverly’s mic was shut off and she keeps her response vague.

“You know I can’t share that,” She teases, intending for that to be the end of the matter. But then her eyes land on a head of jet black hair and a matching beard and she grips the arms of her chair a little tighter.

“All I’ll say is,” Nicole levels her gaze with the Head Gamemaker, her next words purely for his benefit, “I think my performance was _electric_. I really shut the place down.” She watches as Seneca’s jaw clenches and she smiles before returning her attention to Caesar.

“What a shame that we didn’t get to see it,” Caesar morphs his face into a look of disappointment. “Are you worried that people will overlook you now that you've received such a low score?”

“Not at all,” Nicole boasts, preparing herself to deliver the crucial line she and Johanna had come up with. “I mean, everyone loves an underdog, right Caesar?”

She gives her best, most charming smile, dimples popping and her eyes landing first on the audience before her, then directly into the lens of the camera. The crowd eats it up. Because as it turns out, everyone really does love an underdog.

“Right you are,” Caesar agrees. “If you win, what is the first thing you’ll do when you go back to District 7?”

“Well I promised my baby sister I’d come back to read her another bedtime story, and you can’t break a pinky promise.”

The audience lets out a collective sigh and Nicole knows she’s said the right thing.

“No you can’t,” Caesar says somberly. “If you could speak to her right now, what would you say?” He gestures toward the camera and Nicole turns to look into the reflective lens.

“I would tell her,” Nicole begins, her voice wavering at the sudden rush of emotions she feels thinking of her siblings all huddled around the television, watching her speak with wide, hopeful eyes. “I would tell all of my siblings,” She corrects, “that their big sister is coming home, and no one’s going to stand in the way of that.” Her voice hardens at the last part and there’s a moment of silence before Caesar speaks again.

“Now those,” Caesar clasps Nicole’s hand in his own, “are the words of a victor.” He rises to stand, pulling Nicole up along with him. “Give it up for Nicole Haught, from District 7!”

Her arm is thrust up in the air along with Caesar’s and the crowd erupts into raucous applause. The sensation is intoxicating. For a moment, she feels invincible, bolstered by the cheering crowd. Until she sees President Snow, his hands politely clapping and his face set in a hard frown. His eyes are chilling, even from a distance, and Nicole’s own smile starts to slip.

〜

Hansen is waiting for her when she gets off stage, the rest of their party still with Robin in the waiting room. He should be walking out any moment and Nicole wants to remain in the wings to watch his interview but the escort is already guiding her through a maze of hallways to an unknown destination. She tries to shake off the lingering chill from the President's disapproving gaze as they walk, convincing herself that it was only her imagination. She'd done what she was supposed to, she had put on a show and the crowd had loved it. She was playing the game. What else could Snow want from her?

At last, they arrive in a room full of ornate couches that tributes occupy while waiting for their mentors and escorts to stop mingling over the hors d’oeuvres so that they can go home. They’ve only just walked through the doors when Hansen is swept away by a group of escorts who gush over his makeup and chiffon scarf. Nicole stands, unsure of what to do with herself without Robin or their mentors by her side. Peacekeepers stand at each exit so leaving is not an option. A few tributes sit huddled over trays, wolfing down fine food while they still can, but Nicole’s nerves are still running high from the interview and she doesn’t have much of an appetite.

Across the room, a girl stands with her forehead pressed against a window, her eyes trained on the blinking lights and swarms of people below. Her arms are tucked around her stomach and she appears deep in thought. The moment Nicole sees her, her feet begin to move of their own volition and she finds herself strolling across the room until she stands before the window, the girl yet to become aware of her presence.

“Waverly,” She speaks tentatively, cautious not to startle the girl.

She turns and her eyes seem to light up once they land on Nicole, her lips pressed into a soft smile. “Not enjoying the party either, huh?” Her eyes flicker over to the center of the room, where mentors laugh at old stories and escorts drink from ridiculously large glasses of champagne.

Nicole shrugs and shoves her hands into the pockets of her slacks. “It feels more like a funeral than a party.”

Waverly hums in agreement, then lets her eyes drift back to the window. Nicole is about to walk away, interpreting the brunette’s silence as a sign for her to leave, when Waverly speaks again.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like, to be one of them?”

Nicole comes to stand just in front of Waverly, her own shoulder leaning against the windowpane and her eyes following Waverly’s down to the street below.

“Sometimes,” She admits. “Do you?”

Waverly closes her eyes for a second before gazing up at the taller girl. “All the time,” She breathes. “I wonder what it’s like to sip cocktails in the afternoon and talk about silly things like where you got your outfit or what's airing on television that night. I wonder what it’s like to go to school, a real school, and fall in love and get your heartbroken and wake up every morning knowing that you’re _safe_.” The words rush out of Waverly, her voice wistful, longing for a security neither of them have ever known.

“I don’t think it’d be worth it, knowing that you’re safe while the districts are starving, watching twenty-four kids die every year, and for what? To prove a point? It all makes me sick. _They_ make me sick,” Nicole scoffs, her eyes landing accusingly on a pair of Capitol citizens dancing around in the street below.

“They’re not so different from us.” Waverly lifts a hand to the glass and lets her fingers rest there. “I bet most of them don’t even know what it’s really like in the districts.”

“That’s no excuse,” Nicole insists. “They’re complicit, all of them.”

“Maybe so,” Waverly sighs. “But who’s to say we wouldn’t be the same if we were in their shoes?”

“I could never be like them.” And Nicole means it, the thought of living in the Capitol and not doing a damn thing about the mistreatment of the districts is repulsive to her.

Waverly tilts her head and smiles, hazel eyes darting across Nicole’s face in a way that makes her feel exposed. “I guess you couldn’t, could you?”

Nicole laughs to hide her nerves. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you’re…” Waverly searches for the right words, eyes still tracing over Nicole. “Steadfast, and courageous. You help people even when they don’t deserve your help.” She smiles shyly and Nicole has the sudden urge to reach out and tuck a brunette curl behind Waverly’s ear, but she doesn’t.

“Is this some kind of manipulation technique?” Nicole asks, narrowing her eyes. “To get me to lower my guard before we go into the arena.” She’s kidding, but not entirely.

“No, not even close,” Waverly shakes her head and steps closer. The action makes Nicole’s breath catch in her throat, the brunette now only inches away. “You’re the only person I’ve met since Reaping Day that makes me feel like I don’t have to be anyone I’m not.”

Nicole is transfixed by the girl before her, her eyes dusted in glittering silver and her lips painted with a shiny gloss. She’s looking at Nicole like she means something, like all the things she just said about her are true. Nicole’s so mesmerized by the shorter girl that she completely forgets to say anything in response.

The silence makes Waverly grow uncertain and her face flushes pink. “I'm not really sure why that is. I probably sound like a crazy person. I should- I should go,” Waverly rambles and begins to turn away.

Nicole’s brain finally catches up with her and she reaches out to stop Waverly from leaving, her hand gently tugging the other girl’s elbow until she is once again stood before Nicole, this time even closer than before. Waverly gasps but doesn’t move away.

“You’re not crazy, Waverly.” Her hand lingers for a moment before she lets it fall. “But what’s the point in acting like we’re friends tonight when we’re supposed to kill each other tomorrow?”

Waverly crosses her arms over her chest and fixes Nicole with a hard stare that’s honestly more adorable than it is threatening. “Might I remind you that _you_ walked up to _me_ tonight.”

“I just… I wanted to check on you, after your interview,” Nicole admits, abandoning all pretense and letting Waverly’s gravity pull her in.

“And what’s the point in checking on me when we’re supposed to kill each other tomorrow?” Waverly’s eyebrow quirks up and she lifts her chin to level her eyes with Nicole.

Her face grows hot under Waverly’s gaze but she’s already caved once so she lets her walls continue to crumble. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” She breathes.

She watches as the girl before her visibly melts, her body shifting just a fraction closer. “Well I’m fine, a little shaken but… I’m fine.”

“It’d be okay if you weren’t fine,” Nicole prompts.

Waverly looks like she wants to say something more but then her brows furrow and she takes a step back. It’s only a small movement but it feels like a punch to the gut.

“Waverly, what’s wrong?” Nicole tries to eliminate the distance between them again, chasing the high that came from being close to the other girl, from having those hazel eyes upon her, but two hands land on her shoulders and she’s yanked backward.

Certain that she’s either being hauled off by peacekeepers again or one of the other Careers has decided to cut her conversation with Waverly short, Nicole twists in an attempt to fight back against her assailant only to come face to face with Johanna.

“What the hell are you doing?” She snaps, shrugging the mentor’s hands off her.

“What the hell are _you_ doing, Nicole?” Johanna hisses as her eyes look pointedly at Waverly then back to Nicole.

“I uh-”

Johanna doesn’t give her a chance to explain herself before she’s pulling Nicole away and towards the exit. Once they’re in a mostly empty hallway Johanna swivels on her heels and whacks Nicole behind the head.

“Ok ouch!” Nicole cries, rubbing her head and glaring at her mentor.

“I leave you alone for ten minutes and you decide to start flirting with the competition. What the fuck Nicole?”

“I wasn’t- that wasn’t flirting,” She stammers, her quickly reddening cheeks betraying her.

Johanna groans and pinches the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “Oh God, it’s worse than I thought.” She shakes her head. “ _Fuck_.”

“I don’t get why you’re freaking out over this,” Nicole runs a hand along the back of her neck, Johanna’s agitation making her grow anxious. “Not that anything was happening,” She quickly adds, nervous laughter bubbling in her chest. “Cause I definitely wasn’t flirting.”

“Do you know why I try not to give a shit about my tributes?" Nicole is unsure if she's meant to give an answer to that question but before she can, Johanna continues on. "Because everyone who I’ve ever given a shit about is dead. I tried not to give a shit about you, I really did, but for some reason, I actually kind of like you.” Nicole winces, never having had something relatively nice spat at her like an insult. “And I thought you were ready to fight, Nicole. I thought you were going to be the one to come out alive.”

“I am ready to fight.” She hears her voice crack as she says it and cringes at the sound.

“Oh yeah? Then what happens when that girl stops batting her eyelashes at you and instead points a sword to your chest?”

“Then I’ll… do what I have to do.”

The mentor sighs. “I wish I could believe that Nicole.”

Nicole tries to come up with a response but each is as feeble as the next. She’s saved from answering by the doors banging open and Nedley and Robin come to stand beside them. The latter smiles until he sees the girls’ distressed faces.

“Is everyone okay?” Robin asks.

“Peachy,” Nicole mumbles. “Can we go now?”

The ride back to the tribute center is so quiet, it’s deafening. When they return to the apartment, Nicole heads straight for the shower, washing away the remnants of the night and scrubbing her skin until it's pink in an attempt to get the sparkles off of her. She tries not to think about what’s to come tomorrow, about Waverly, but her brain drifts continuously to both topics. She had planned to stay in her room for the remainder of the night but her rumbling stomach forces her out into the living room, she knows how foolish it would be to enter the Games already hungry.

Nicole almost manages to grab a snack from the kitchen and disappear back into her room without anyone seeing her, but then she rounds the corner and runs straight into the last person she wants to talk to.

“I’m not in the mood to be yelled at,” Nicole grumbles, trying to sidestep the mentor and escape to the sanctuary of her room.

“Just wait.” Johanna blocks her path and Nicole lets out a frustrated huff. “I’m not here to yell at you, I swear.”

Johanna holds her hands up and there’s something small and rectangular in her left hand, it makes Nicole pause.

“I have something I want to show you.” The mentor holds out the rectangle and waits for Nicole to take it. “That has a recording of Nedley’s Hunger Games. I want you to watch it.”

“Why?” Nicole runs her finger over the small metal object covered in plastic. It’s a strange request but she’s desperately curious about how the older mentor won his Games.

“Because the road you’re going down has no good ending. No one really wins these Games, Nicole. There are only survivors. I want you to be a victor, but I also don't want these Games to destroy you like they destroyed him.”

“I’m not going down any roads I don’t-”

“Just watch it.” Johanna closes Nicole’s hand around the drive before heading back to her room, leaving Nicole to figure out how the small device works on her own.

After a series of failed attempts, Nicole finally finds a small slot on the side of the TV and pushes the drive into place. Something about watching Nedley’s Hunger Games tape feels wrong, like an invasion of privacy, but Johanna’s words echo in her mind and her curiosity wins out.

She settles on the couch, pulling a blanket onto her lap and curling up in the dark, empty room, and she presses play.


	9. Chapter 9

A young boy with dirty blonde hair runs through a forest, his movements frantic as he hops over tangled roots and weaves between the trees.

Nicole finds herself being drawn closer to the screen as the camera focuses on the boy’s face, his green eyes bright under the fading sun and his face unmarked by the weight of time. He looks so different, yet Nicole knows this is Randy Nedley at sixteen, running for his life in the Thirty-first Hunger Games.

He reaches a large oak tree, hoists himself up, and begins scaling its trunk at an incredible speed. The boy is halfway up the tree before his hunters come into frame. Three boys and a girl, loaded down with various weapons, circle the trunk and yell jeers from below.

Nedley pauses his ascent to gaze down at the others and a boyish laugh bursts from his chest. “Come on now, aren’t you going to join me? The view’s great.”

The tallest of the boys grunts and throws down his sword. “Give me that,” he growls at the girl and takes the knife from her hand. The boy places the knife between his teeth and begins climbing after his target

The moment the Career touches the tree, Nedley resumes his climbing with ease. Once the Career is several feet off the ground, Nedley reaches into his pack and pulls out a hatchet. A small smile graces his lips before he begins hacking at a branch to his right. The Career is unaware, too focused on his pursuit.

The branch eventually gives way and goes tumbling down to the forest floor, but not before hitting the Career on the top of the head and sending him plummeting with it. The others don’t try to follow.

Nedley waits out the Careers as long as he can. He whittles figurines out of nearby branches and amuses himself with his creations while the Careers taunt him from below. He finishes his pack of jerky and eventually his water. Just when Nicole thinks he’s going to topple off his branch from fatigue, the sound of approaching footsteps jostles the Careers awake. Another tribute bursts into the clearing, a skinny boy no older than fourteen. He takes in the four heavily armed tributes and runs in the opposite direction.

“Let’s get ‘em!” The girl yells, and the Careers follow the boy’s retreating form.

The minute the Careers are out of sight, Nedley shimmies down the tree and runs aimlessly into the forest.

He spends a few days wandering through the trees, trying to catch squirrels and cursing as they scamper out of his grasp. His thirst is quenched by a stream but Nicole can tell the hunger is eating away at him, making him vulnerable and weak.

On the fourth day since he escaped the pack, Nedley enters a clearing to find a girl picking berries. Her dark brown curls shield her face and she startles at the sound of approaching footsteps.

She whips around, brandishing a knife, and stands shakily to face the intruder.

Nedley holds his hands up and gives a tentative smile. “Hey now, I’m not here to hurt you.”

The girl narrows her eyes, pools of dark brown flecked with amber, and doesn’t lower her weapon.

“I promise,” Nedley reaches for his pack and the girl tenses. He slowly draws out a hatchet and a knife, holds them up for her to see, then releases them and lets them fall to the ground. “I’m not much of a fighter really. Only when I have to be. I thought… well I haven’t eaten in days and I can’t figure out which plants will kill me and which won’t, but you seem to know what you’re doing.”

The girl raises her eyebrows at him and Nedley continues.

“Well I figured, maybe we could strike up an alliance. You could show me what to eat and I could make you one of those.” Nedley points to his makeshift bed suspended between the branches of a nearby tree. “It’s way safer up in the trees.”

The boy smiles and the girl continues to study him.

“Why would you help me?” She questions.

“You’d be helping me too. We’d both help each other. What do ya say?”

The girl takes a step forward and drops the berries she was holding into the palm of Nedley’s hand.

“These are blueberries, they’re edible and sweet. They won’t kill you.”

Nedley smiles, “Gee thanks.”

The girl doesn’t return the smile and points at a clump of berries nearby, similar in color to the blueberries but slightly darker and smaller.

“Those,” She explains, “Are nightlock. You eat them and you’re dead within minutes.”

“Oh uh, good to know-”

The girl steps closer, placing her knife to his neck. “You try and pull something, double-cross me, and you’ll wish you’d eaten nightlock. Because I’ll kill you slowly and painfully, understand?”

Nicole watches as Nedley swallows against the blade pressed to his throat. “I understand.”

“Good,” The girl removes her knife and takes a step back, smiling softly. “Then allies it is.” She holds her hand out and Nedley doesn’t hesitate to shake it, a goofy grin on his lips.

“Allies,” Nedley repeats. “I’m Randy, what’s your name?”

The girl gives Nedley a calculating look before responding. “Andromeda.” She then turns and starts heading into the forest.

They become a unit, Nedley and the girl, their skills balancing one another and making them a force to be reckoned with. The nights roll by, each with a new face projected in the sky that’s not their own. They share stories of their home districts until one falls asleep in the hammocks they’ve suspended between the trees.

Nedley talks of long days in the yard, of his peacekeeper father who chose to leave the woman he loved to raise a little boy on her own rather than be seen with district scum. Andromeda tells tales of the cattle fields of Ten, the long days in the sun herding innocent creatures to their death. She talks of how she thinks of them now, how she envies their oblivion to their impending slaughter as she awaits her own brutal death.

They wade barefoot through a stream on a sunny afternoon, searching for fish in the shallow water. Nedley steps on a moss-covered rock by mistake and tumbles into the icy stream. A laugh bursts from Andromeda’s lungs as the boy emerges soaking wet with a fish flopping in his hand. The sound makes Nedley’s face break into a grin.

There’s a sinking feeling in Nicole’s gut as the tape progresses and she watches her mentor fall hopelessly in love with the girl with the berries. Because she knows who makes it out of these Games alive, knows their story is doomed to be tragic.

They’re laying in a bed of soft grass, having just feasted on an assortment of fruits and greens chosen by Andromeda’s skillful eye. Nedley turns his head to gaze at the girl beside him. She pretends not to notice but a smile sneaks its way onto her lips. He calls her beautiful. She calls him an idiot.

After Andromeda admits her love of wildflowers, and how she used to collect them in the fields, Nedley spends his mornings scoring the nearby shrubbery for flowers. When he presents his floral finds, Andromeda rolls her eyes but she places each flower carefully in her pocket and holds them up to the moon each night.

Soon it’s only them and the remaining Careers. The two hatch a plan to lure the Careers to the woods and ambush them from above. They don’t talk about what will happen once they’re the only two left.

Night falls and they prepare their supplies. Nedley’s hands shake as he helps Andromeda pack her bag, it’s her job to act as bait, to run into the Career camp and lead them into the canopy where Nedley will be waiting in the trees. He tried to convince her to trade tasks with him, but she insisted that he was the best at climbing and she was the fastest, it had to be this way.

Just as Andromeda’s about to head off into the night, Nedley reaches out and halts her movement. Tells her to wait just a moment.

“Andromeda, I lo-” He begins to confess, but she cuts him off.

“Don't finish that sentence. Please, not now."

Nedley steps closer, his face pained, “Then when? If I die tonight, I want to die with you knowing how much I love you.”

She turns her head, and in the light of the moon, the camera catches a tear streaking down her cheek. “Let’s just focus on the plan, okay?”

Nedley sighs and drops her hand, “Okay.”

Andromeda steps forward and lays a hand on his shoulder. She tilts her head up and places a kiss on his cheek. Nedley’s eyes go wide but it’s over just as quickly as it happened.

“Try not to get yourself killed tonight,” her words are teasing but her voice is strained.

“You too.” Nedley hesitates, as if considering closing the small distance between them again, but at last turns to climb the tall tree to his right.

Once he’s out of sight, hidden among the foliage high above, Andromeda places a hand on the trunk of the tree, tears now rolling freely down her face.

Nicole doesn’t realize it, but her own face is wet with tears.

“I love you too,” She whispers, Nedley too far to hear. She pauses for a moment, eyes fluttering closed before opening again, then she runs off toward the Career camp.

Nicole observes the events of the night like one would watch a house slowly crumble under the flames of a fire, unable to stop the wreckage. It starts when Andromeda steps on a twig that alerts the Careers to her presence too soon. Her retreat is quick, but not quick enough. A boy twice her size tackles her to the ground and places a blade to her throat.

The cameras cut to Nedely, waiting patiently in his tree, unaware of the catastrophe happening near the cornucopia. He’s carving something into its bark. Nicole pauses the tape just before the cameras pan away and makes out two shaky letters connected by a plus sign.

R + A.

She wants to scream at him to jump down from the tree and run towards the cornucopia, to save his love, but she knows it's pointless. She knows sixteen-year-old Nedley can’t hear her.

When the camera returns to the Careers, she’s confused. No cannon was sounded, and the pack seems to be making their way through the thick foliage, straight for Nedley’s tree. She counts the shadows as they weave through the trees and realizes there are one too many.

Nedley must hear the approaching tributes because he shifts on his branch to a squatting position, one hand steadying himself on its trunk, the other grasping his hatchet with white knuckles.

He sees a petite figure dart by below and lets out a breath of relief. Andromeda would be the first to pass by, that was the plan, and the Careers would soon follow. Then Nedley was meant to take out the first with his axe, and in their confusion, another with his knife. Andromeda would handle the last one on the ground.

The seconds tick by and Nedley tilts his arm back, preparing to send the hatchet plummeting to the ground at the first sign of movement.

Another body appears below and had Nedley paused for half a second, perhaps he would have noticed that this one did not run, but rather stumbled before the tree as if they had been shoved.

He hears her scream his name only after the weapon has left his hand.

Nicole watches as realization dawns on Nedley’s face and he cries out for his love but it’s too late. Her screams have already been silenced by the hatchet lodged in her head. _His_ hatchet.

He half climbs, half falls down the tree. The moment his feet hit the ground he whips out his knife and turns towards the remaining careers. Two boys, both taller than him, and the girl he had mistaken for Andromeda.

The Nedley she sees on her screen is not the same boy who picked wildflowers at dawn, careful not to crumple their petals. No, this boy is pure rage, hot tears streaking down his face. He thrashes his knife in jerky, wild motions. It connects with the closest Career’s chest and he doesn’t hesitate to rip the blade out and resume his swinging.

Nicole wants to look away, but her eyes refuse to spare her from the carnage. She watches her mentor kill three people in less than two minutes. Up until this point in the Games, Nedley hadn’t taken a single life. Now he’s taken four, one being the girl he loved.

When the massacre is over and the cannons fire, Nedley sinks to his knees beside Andromeda’s lifeless body, his face pure agony.

He shakes his head, repeating the word, _no_ , over and over again, clinging to Andromeda’s limp hand like he can squeeze the life back into her.

A man’s voice booms over the arena, crackling at first before becoming clear.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” The voice speaks with enthusiasm, “I present to you, the victor of the Thirty-first Hunger Games, Randall Nedley of District Seven.”

Nedley tilts his head up to the sky, the pale light of the moon making the droplets of blood on his face look like molten silver, and he weeps.


End file.
